For a minute they remained locked in each other’s arms, the happiest moments they had spent since that never-to-be-forgotten evening under the shadow of the Sugarloaf Mountain in Monmouthshire. And then, perhaps for the first time, Yootha realized to the full the joy of being truly loved by a man on whose loyalty and steadfastness she knew she could implicitly depend. Yootha’s recovery was rapid, and in the following week Preston decided to take her to Paris, which she was anxious to visit, never having been there. “You had better telegraph to your aunt and ask if she can meet us there, as you say she is well again,” he said. “It wouldn’t do for us to stay there alone, as long as conventions have to be considered,” and he smiled cynically. “Which reminds me that Harry Hopford is in Paris--I had a letter from him yesterday. I am sure he will be glad to see you.” And so, some days later, they arrived at the Hôtel Bristol, where they found Yootha’s aunt awaiting them. She was a pleasant, middle-aged woman with intelligent eyes and a sense of humor, and she greeted them effusively. “You don’t hesitate to make use of me when I am in health,” she said laughingly to her niece. “I had not the least wish to come to Paris, but now I am very glad I have come. Yes, I am well again, but I don’t think you look as if Monte Carlo and its excitement had agreed with you. By the way, a delightful young man called here yesterday to ask if you had arrived. He was so pleasant to talk to that I persuaded him to stay to lunch. He seemed to think a lot of you. His name is Hopford.” “Harry Hopford! A capital lad. I am glad you met him. He served under me in France and was quite a good soldier.” “He told me he had served under you. He wants you to meet him at an address in Clichy at nine to-morrow night. I have the address somewhere.” “A bit of luck for me, your coming to Paris,” Hopford said when they met on the following night. “I particularly wanted to see you, Preston. My inquiries and those of these friends of mine,” he had just introduced to Preston the two Paris detectives, his friend on _Le Matin_, and Johnson’s friend Idris Llanvar, “have succeeded in making some astonishing discoveries concerning Jessica and her friends, and now I am on the way to tracking Alix Stothert to his lair.” “Alix Stothert!” Preston exclaimed. “What has he to do with it?”