She hears the front door open and shut again, and springs to the window. She can just catch sight of him as he passes along the Crescent. It is her last glimpse, and in spite of his promise to the contrary, she feels that it is. But Victoire Hester for the moment forgets herself. In the presence of the danger which threatens the man she loves, she becomes calm. All trace of his hasty departure must be quickly obliterated. She feels that this is imperatively necessary. Quickly she sets to work, tidies up his table, sets the room neat, and with her own hands collects the burnt paper and carries it off. Then she opens the windows to let out the smell which the burning paper has emitted, heaps more coals on the fire, and moves into Mr. Trackem’s bedroom to arrange his things. In less than an hour all is ship-shape and tidy as usual. There is not a sign of hasty departure. A few hours later there comes a ring at the front door. Victoire has given instructions that she will see any one that calls. She has often before undertaken this duty in Mr. Trackem’s absence, and the servant sees nothing strange in the order. He therefore admits the new-comers, and shows them into Mr. Trackem’s business room. These two new-comers are men. They are dressed in dark clothes, and they both seat themselves to await his coming. “Run him in pretty sharp, eh?” observes one of them with a smile, as the door closes on the servant. “Haven’t got him yet, Bush,” retorts the other quietly. Inspector Truffle is not of so sanguine a temperament as is Inspector Bush. “As good as though,” replies Inspector Bush confidently, but he stops abruptly as he hears steps approaching. Again the door of Mr. Trackem’s business room opens. Victoire enters. There is blank disappointment on Inspector Bush’s face. Victoire sees it as she fixes her dark eyes full upon him. “Good-afternoon, gentlemen,” she says quietly; “you wished to see Mr. Trackem? I am sorry to say he is away, but I expect him back the day after to-morrow. His head clerk is ill too, but I can do anything for you in Mr. Trackem’s place. I always attend to his affairs in his absence.” She smiles good-naturedly on the blank, nonplussed detectives. She seems to give her attention especially to Inspector Bush. Inspector Truffle rises to the occasion. “Thank you, madam,” he says briskly, “but I fear the business we have come about can only be transacted with Mr. Trackem. The fact is, madam, we came to settle an account that we owe him, and which would require Mr. Trackem’s signature to be of any use as a receipt. And the worst of it is, we are going away, and shall not be able to call again.” He fixes a piercing glance upon her as he speaks, but Victoire is equal to the occasion. She does not believe a word of Inspector Truffle’s statement, and divines perfectly well what his business is. She assumes a disappointed air as she exclaims,