“You may trust me,” she remarks laconically. “I know I can,” answers Mr. Trackem gravely; “I know that very well. Now, Léonie, your work begins at once. Gloria de Lara, her mother Speranza de Lara, and the Duke of Ravensdale were seen at a little place called ‘The Hut,’ near Bracknell, belonging to the duke. I have reason to think, however, that they have fled that place this very night. You had better go straight there, and take up the scent from the spot. I leave all to you. You can draw upon me, you know. Keep me advised of your whereabouts, stick to the letter of my instructions, and send me good news as quickly as possible. I have no more to say, unless it be that you are to effect that which Scotland Yard cannot.” “I will,” answers this strange laconic creature, as with a slight inclination she turns and leaves the room. “Well, I’m blowed, Trackem, if that is not the queerest elf I ever set eyes upon in my life!” exclaims Lord Westray as the door closes. “Where on earth did you raise her from?” “A pretty elf, too, eh, my lord? Hardly a monstrosity,” observes Mr. Trackem drily. “Where did I raise her from, you ask? Well, that’s just the point. I don’t care to tell you who she is, but I’ll tell you this much. She’s the daughter of a customer of past days. Her father was a great man. At least the world said he was. She’s got plenty of blue blood in her veins; she’s well bred enough. Her mother died here. The great man forsook her, and the child was left in my hands. I found her pretty, remarkably intelligent, and quick-witted. I determined to train her to be useful, and I think I have succeeded. She has certainly proved a most profitable speculation, and repaid the excellent education I have given her. I have no reason to repent my philanthropic act,” and Mr. Trackem laughs drily. “Well, you are a clever fellow, and no mistake, Trackem. I gave you credit for a good deal, but not for rearing detectives from childhood. I thought I knew pretty nearly everything, but this is a new experience,” remarks the earl, fairly surprised. “Yes, my lord, you have seen a good deal and know a good deal. I admit your experience is wide and varied. But not even you know half that goes on in this wonderful city. There’s many a queer thing takes place about which outsiders know nothing. It’s only natural. What else can you expect in a place like this? And now I think I have no more to communicate for the moment. It will be daylight soon, and I feel I want a snatch of sleep. I will bid you good-night therefore; and I don’t suppose you will be sorry to follow my example. You have had a pretty long, tiring, and eventful day. Good-night, my lord.” Saying which, Mr. Trackem rises from his armchair, takes hold of a small hand-lamp standing on a table close by, and with an obsequious bow to the patron, for the sake of whose gold he is serving, leaves the room.