med the pretty
Pierrette, with tears in her fine eyes. "One reads of such terrible
things in the journals."

"No, no," I hastened to reassure her. "I do not think so. If one man
alone lay between the thieves and jewels of that value--well, then we
might perhaps apprehend such a catastrophe. But there were two--two
able-bodied men, who were neither children nor fools. No," I went on,
"my own opinion is that there may be reasons--reasons of which you are
entirely unaware--which have led your father to bury himself and his
clerk for the present, to reappear later. Men often have secrets,
mademoiselle--secrets that they do not tell others--not even their wives
or daughters."

Mine was a somewhat lame opinion, I knew, but I merely expressed it for
want of something better to say.

"But he would never have kept me in this suspense," she declared. "He
would have sent me word in secret of his safety."

"He may have gone on a long sea-voyage, and if so, would be unable.
Suppose he has gone to Rio de Janeiro or Buenos Ayres?"

"But why should he go?" asked the dark-eyed girl. "His affairs are all
in order, are they not, madame?"

"Perfectly," declared the old woman. "As I was saying last evening to
the English gentleman whom we have met in the hotel--what was his name,
Pierrette?"

"Sir Charles Blythe," replied the other.

I could not help giving a start at mention of that name.

Blythe was there--at Beaulieu!

I think Pierrette must have noticed the change in my countenance, for
she asked--

"Do you happen to know him? He's a most charming gentleman."

"I've heard of him, but do not know him personally," was my response.

I had last seen Sir Charles in Brussels, three months before; but his
reappearance at Beaulieu showed quite plainly that there was more in
progress concerning the pretty Pierrette than even I imagined.

"Then you told Sir Charles Blythe about Monsieur Dumont's
disappearance?" I asked Madame, much interested in this new phase of the
affair, and yet at the same time puzzled that Pierrette had apparently
not told Bindo about the affair when they met in London.

"Yes," answered the queer old lady with the rough voice. "He was most
sympathetic and interested. He said that he knew one of the chiefs at
your Scot-len Yarde, and that he would write to him."

The idea of an old thief like Blythe writing to Scotland Yard was, to
me, distinctly amusing.

Had Bindo sent him to Beaulieu to keep in touch