And of the whereabouts of Mrs. Elaine Willoughby, Vreeland knew absolutely nothing, save that in a stolen interview with Justine Duprez he learned that Miss Mary Kelly, now aided by her brother and mother as inmates, was the caretaker of the superb “Circassia” apartment. And so, Justine had a new mistress, pro tem. The private secretary had handed to the French maid a note from her absent mistress, bidding her remain on duty at the “Circassia” until her own return. “Miss Kelly represents me; she will pay you and give you her orders, carrying out my directions to her.” And Justine dared not break away. There was joy now in Justine’s anxious heart, for the stolen interviews at her old rooms in South Fifth Avenue, perhaps, could be soon renewed, Miss Kelly generously allowing the maid all her usual outings. And Vreeland had soon calmed the Parisienne’s growing fears. “She must however know no more of my affairs now,” mused the young broker. “She will be useless to me in the future game, as Fate has dealt the cards.” But he knew he might have some further use for her, to watch the promoted amanuensis and to learn of Mrs. Willoughby’s movements. “Yes, she must continue to intercept the letters. Thank Heaven, I can always depend upon the janitor and Mulholland!” was Vreeland’s flattering consolation to his soul. “It is the only way to trace Mrs. Willoughby’s real movements and so be able to post Senator Garston.” He would have been disturbed had he marked roundsman Dan Daly, a cool but shadowy pursuer of Justine Duprez on her every outing, and known also that the untiring schoolboy brother was on his own trail all the while. The moving into the South Fifth Avenue lodging-house of a very agreeable old French crony gave a neighbor to Justine’s resident old hag, who speedily became a familiar visitor. And then through the walls of that adjoining room, a carefully contrived peep-hole enabled roundsman Daly’s all-seeing eye to witness the now infrequent interviews of Vreeland and Justine. “I shall not be happy until I place the jewelry on that scoundrel’s wrists,” was Daly’s pledge to his own heart, for he had not forgotten Vreeland—bully and coward! There was a growing score to settle—a long one! And so Vreeland and Justine had freely met in the fancied security of their Fools’ Paradise. But blissfully ignorant, over the wine, Vreeland in the crowning interview, eyed the Western rising statesman. He was all on the alert as he said: “Senator Garston, I am now ready to close with you. “But first, you must plainly tell me all. Why do you wish to find this girl?”