He imagined he detected certain little peculiarities in the man’s walk that marked him as Joe Leslie. As for the woman, Eric became quite interested trying to make her out—in figure she certainly resembled Lillian, and this only added to his eager pursuit. Another point he noticed—her hair was dark. Was she the one who had entered his mind? He noticed that when they danced it was always together—other couples might separate but the Spanish bull fighter and the Lady of Cards seemed inseparable. Probably they were greeted with more or less lively sallies in the badinage that passed current among the dancers, but the size of the bull fighter deterred any envious swains from attempting to relieve him of his partner. Darrell noted the envious actions of some of the male maskers who could not find partners, and made up his mind there would be trouble yet unless the couple withdrew early. The detective had managed to get below by bribing a keeper. He did not go out upon the floor, but remained under the gallery. It was not very light here. Now and then some promenading couple would pass by, chatting and laughing, a red clad Mephistopheles fanning a pretty shepherdess, or a portly friar joking with Queen Elizabeth. One thing is always noticeable about these _bal masques_—the ladies never assume a grotesque costume, always endeavoring to appear charming, according to their own ideas, and leaving the funny part of the business to the male sex. The couple whom Darrell was anxious to watch had mingled with the crowd dancing and for some little time he lost sight of them. He began to grow a little anxious and was just thinking of changing his quarters, when all of a sudden they appeared in view close by. They were heading for the dark spot under the gallery where, only a few persons had gathered. The lady was holding both hands up to her head, as if to keep her, mask from falling while her tall escort forced a passage. Eric shrank back behind a pillar. The two came within ten feet of where he stood, and there halted. “Can you fix it?” he heard her ask. “I will try, Marian,” was the reply. That name—it confirmed the detective’s worst fears—he could believe anything now. The Lady of Cards handed her mask to her companion, who immediately endeavored to refasten the string that had broken loose. Meanwhile she stood with her face bared, looking out upon the throng. What a miserable thing it was that the light was so poor under the gallery. Darrell just then would have given a hundred dollars for one good square look at her face. Oh, for an electric torch to suddenly light up the scene and reveal those features to his gaze. He used his eyes to the utmost, but it was not at all satisfactory, for her face was in the shadow; but he had an idea she was very like the picture he had looked at recently—the photograph of Lillian’s sister. Presently the bull fighter had succeeded in re-securing the string. He tied the mask on for her.