med,
in a very bad humour.

"The concierge may know," Isabel suggested, looking over my
shoulder.

We asked at his office.

Yes, the gentleman's address was the Rev. Richard Peploe Brabazon,
Holme Bush Cottage, Empingham, Northumberland.

Any address where letters might be sent at once, in Paris?

For the next ten days, or till further notice, Hotel des Deux
Mondes, Avenue de l'Opera.

Amelia's mind was made up at once.

"Strike while the iron's hot," she cried. "This sudden illness,
coming at the end of their honeymoon, and involving ten days' more
stay at an expensive hotel, will probably upset the curate's budget.
He'll be glad to sell now. You'll get them for three hundred. It
was absurd of Charles to offer so much at first; but offered once,
of course we must stick to it."

"What do you propose to do?" Charles asked. "Write, or telegraph?"

"Oh, how silly men are!" Amelia cried. "Is this the sort of business
to be arranged by letter, still less by telegram? No. Seymour must
start off at once, taking the night train to Paris; and the moment
he gets there, he must interview the curate or Mrs. Brabazon. Mrs.
Brabazon's the best. She has none of this stupid, sentimental
nonsense about Uncle Aubrey."

It is no part of a secretary's duties to act as a diamond broker.
But when Amelia puts her foot down, she puts her foot down--a fact
which she is unnecessarily fond of emphasising in that identical
proposition. So the self-same evening saw me safe in the train on
my way to Paris; and next morning I turned out of my comfortable
sleeping-car at the Gare de Strasbourg. My orders were to bring back
those diamonds, alive or dead, so to speak, in my pocket to Lucerne;
and to offer any needful sum, up to two thousand five hundred
pounds, for their immediate purchase.

When I arrived at the Deux Mondes I found the poor little curate
and his wife both greatly agitated. They had sat up all night, they
said, with their invalid sister; and the sleeplessness and suspense
had certainly told upon them after their long railway journey. They
were pale and tired, Mrs. Brabazon, in particular, looking ill and
worried--too much like White Heather. I was more than half ashamed
of bothering them about the diamonds at such a moment, but it
occurred to me that Amelia was probably right--they would now have
reached the end of the sum set apart for their Continental trip,
and a little ready cash might be far from unwelcome.

I bro