For an instant Mensmore's future trembled in the balance. Bruce almost framed the words which would have led to his immediate arrest at the next port touched by the _White Heather_. But the memory of Phyllis Browne, of her agony, of the fearful scandal that must fly through Society on the Riviera, restrained him. There was no hurry. He must have time to think. "I certainly went to Monte Carlo to discover the identity of that interesting personage, but I came back, Mr. White, as wise as I went. The only trace I found of him was an undelivered letter awaiting him at the Hotel du Cercle." "A letter! Wasn't he there?" Mr. White's face, notwithstanding its official decorum, betrayed its disappointment. This was an unlooked-for check. "He had been there. Other letters came for him earlier, and he had received them." "But the hotel people--" "Did not know him. In fact, there cannot be the slightest doubt that Mr. Corbett concealed his identity at Monte Carlo under another name." "It doesn't matter much," growled the detective. "We will nab him all the same, if he had fifty names." "Possibly. But it is wonderful how a man may be under your very nose, and yet you may miss him." During the next few minutes neither man spoke. Bruce smiled cynically at the thought that he was actually shielding Lady Alice's probable slayer from the minions of the law. He marvelled at himself for his irresolution. Nevertheless, he would wait. Mensmore could not escape him now. Perhaps the business might be managed without the dramatic features which would accompany an immediate arrest. And there were some things that required explanation. If his Monte Carlo acquaintance really killed Lady Dyke, then he was the strangest criminal whom Bruce had ever encountered during the course of his varied career. The policeman misinterpreted his expression. "You can't laugh at us this time, Mr. Bruce," he cried. "Scotland Yard and yourself evolved the same theory, eh? And we can't fly off to the South of France as readily as you." "Your skill is profound, no doubt. Indeed, I wonder at it, considering the mysterious way in which the missing man left his address at the post-office." The other reddened. "That was simple enough, I know; but we were on his track before that." "By watching me when I visited his sister." "You saw me outside the Jollity Theatre, then?" "Of course. What did you expect?" Mr. White recovered his placidity. "There's no use quarrelling about it," he laughed. "I did get that wrinkle from you. But how on earth were we to know what to do, when there were seventy-one flats occupied by respectable people, and one closed for months, the caretaker told us." "I hope you have ceased your surveillance so far as I am concerned." "Honor bright, sir. I won't do it again. Besides, we must lay hands on Corbett sooner or later." "What steps are you taking?" "The Monte Carlo police are making inquiries. They have his description. It has also gone to America."