French was disappointed. He booked on to Lisbon on chance, then not wishing to be seen, he retired to his cabin, leaving Sergeant Carter to watch the ladder leading to the shore boats. As he sat smoking beside the open porthole, he kept on racking his brains for some method of solving his problem, but at last it was a chance word of the purser’s that give him his idea. Mr. Jennings had dropped in just after the ship, pushing out between the two great stone moles of the harbour, had dipped her nose into the deep, slow-moving Atlantic swell, and he had said: “Talking of disguises, it’s a pity you couldn’t disguise yourself and come into the saloon to-night, Mr. French. We are having our first sing-song, and you would have a good chance then of seeing the lady passengers.” “That’s rather an idea,” French had replied. “Could you not hide me somewhere, say, near the door of the saloon through which those attending must enter, so that I could see each as she passed?” Mr. Jennings had believed it might be possible, and had promised to see what could be done. And then as he was taking his leave, the idea flashed into French’s mind, and he had called him back. “Don’t trouble about that business in the meantime, Mr. Jennings. Would it be convenient to you to call back again in half an hour? I shall have something to ask you then.” Jennings glanced at him curiously, but all he said was “Right-o!” as he went on his business. After the allotted span he came back, and French spoke earnestly. “Look here, Mr. Jennings, if you could do something for me you’d put me under a heavy debt of gratitude. I’ll tell you what it is. First I want you to smuggle me into the saloon before the concert begins, without any one having seen me. I want to sit in some place where I can’t be seen by a person entering until he or she is right inside the room. Is that possible?” “Why, yes, I think so. I’ll fix it for you somehow. I take it your notion is that if the lady sees you so suddenly and unexpectedly she will give herself away?” “Quite, but there is something else, Mr. Jennings. That scheme would only work if she knows my appearance, but I don’t think she does. I want some one to read this out as an item. Will you do it?” He handed over a sheet of paper which he had covered with writing during his half-hour’s wait. It read: “RIDDLE. “A prize of a 5-lb. box of chocolates is offered for the best answer to the following riddle: “If she is Winter in Comedy, Ward in _Olympic_, Root in Savoy, and Vane in Crewe, What is she on the _Enoch_?” Mr. Jennings looked somewhat mystified. “I don’t quite get you?” he suggested. “Woman’s aliases and the places where she used them.” Something like admiration showed in the purser’s eyes.