I'd have come
to you to inquire who I am? I can read a card as well as you can, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes."

"Then, as I understand it, madame," I put in, "you have suddenly
forgotten your identity and wish me to--"

"Nothing of the sort. I have forgotten nothing. I never knew for
certain who I am. I have an impression, but it is based only on hearsay
evidence," she interrupted.

For a moment I was fairly puzzled. Still I did not wish to let her know
this, and so going behind my screen and taking a capsule full of cocaine
to steady my nerves, I gained a moment to think. Returning, I said:

"This really is child's play for me, madame. It won't take more than a
week to find out who you are, and possibly, if you have any clews at all
to your identity, I may be able to solve this mystery in a day."

"I have only three," she answered, and taking a piece of swan's-down,
a lock of golden hair, and a pair of silver-tinsel tights from her
portmanteau she handed them over to me.

My first impulse was to ask the lady if she remembered the name of the
asylum from which she had escaped, but I fortunately refrained from
doing so, and she shortly left me, promising to return at the end of the
week.

For three days I puzzled over the clews. Swan's-down, yellow hair, and a
pair of silver-tinsel tights, while very interesting no doubt at times,
do not form a very solid basis for a theory establishing the identity of
so regal a person as my visitor. My first impression was that she was a
vaudeville artist, and that the exhibits she had left me were a part of
her make-up. This I was forced to abandon shortly, because no woman with
the voice of my visitor would sing in vaudeville. The more ambitious
stage was her legitimate field, if not grand opera itself.

At this point she returned to my office, and I of course reported
progress. That is one of the most valuable things I learned while on
earth--when you have done nothing, report progress.

"I haven't quite succeeded as yet," said I, "but I am getting at it
slowly. I do not, however, think it wise to acquaint you with my present
notions until they are verified beyond peradventure. It might help me
somewhat if you were to tell me who it is you think you are. I could
work either forward or backward on that hypothesis, as seemed best, and
so arrive at a hypothetical truth anyhow."

"That's just what I don't want to do," said she. "That information might
bias your final judgment. If, h