"The police were never informed of this theft," he rejoined. "I heard of the robbery as a mere bazaar shave." "Do you mean to tell me," said his aunt, now sitting erect, "that you were not officially informed that Mrs. Chandos had a press broken into, and that Verona's dressing-bag was opened, and all the valuables in it were carried off?" "What valuables?" he asked, judicially. "Oh, oh--oh!" cried Pussy, unable to hold her tongue any longer. "Oh, such lovelee things, that must have cost lakhs of rupees! A gold watch and chain, a diamond and turquoise necklet, pearl bangles, and a pendant with an emerald as big as _this_"--making a circle with two little brown fingers--"and rings, and all sorts of things." "How long ago did this happen?" "Six weeks." "And this is the first I have heard of it; I am afraid everything is scattered far by this time." "I did suggest sending for the police," said Verona. "Yes, it was when you were so sick; mother would not have it; she," and here Pussy giggled, "says all the police are thieves." "Even so, I wonder she did not endeavour to set a thief to catch a thief," rejoined Salwey, "and I maintain that the police are not thieves. Has nothing been done?" turning to Verona. "Why has the affair been allowed to drop?" "I really don't know," she replied. "And has there not been one single trace?" pursued Mrs. Lepell. "I don't know what you would call a trace. You know that man, Abdul Buk?" Salwey's eyes brightened. "Yes, I have that--experience." "I was walking on the road the other day when he drove by in that battered old phaeton of his; when he saw me he pulled up, and said: 'Oh, what a pity about your pretty things, Miss Sahib, I am so sorry. I think the watch and chain might be got, if you would give reward--say, of three hundred rupees.'" "Yes?" said Salwey. "I refused; I told him I had no money to spare." "No," put in Pussy, "for she has spent it all on my bicycle." Verona coloured vividly, and Salwey said: "If you will write me out a list of all the things that have been stolen, I should like to see what I can do, on the principle of 'Better late than never.'" "I will--thank you very much," the clock was now striking six, and Verona rose to depart. She had enjoyed an hour of what had once been her everyday life, a woman's brilliant, cultivated talk, and dainty refined surroundings, a man's astonished first look--and subsequent subdued homage. Oh, she knew it all so well! For one short hour she had been back at Cannes, with the sun setting over the Estorells. The sun here had just set behind the sugar factory, where her father was employed; she was nothing more or less than a foolish discontented half-caste, who had momentarily forgotten her place in the world, and must at once return home, or her mother would be angry. Salwey accompanied Verona and Pussy, carrying magazines and papers, the gift of his aunt; almost before he left them he must have heard an irritable: