"Yes, yes! Plain as day!" exclaimed Mr. Mayfair. "The face was unrecognizable," continued Mr. Pyecroft, "but since the gown had sewn into it Mrs. De Peyster's name, of course--" "Of course! The most natural mistake in the world!" cried Mr. Mayfair excitedly. "Go on! Go on!" Mrs. De Peyster had slowly turned a dazed countenance upward and was gazing at the sober, plausible face of her young man of the sea. "Mrs. De Peyster did not learn of what had happened till the day the supposed Mrs. De Peyster was started homeward. The most sensible thing for her to have done would have been to declare the mistake, and saved her family and friends a great deal of grief. But the shock completely unbalanced her. I will not attempt to describe her psychological processes or explain her actions. You may call her course illogical, hysterical, what you like; I do not seek to defend it; I am only trying to give you the facts. She was so completely unnerved--But a mere look at Mrs. De Peyster will show you how the shock unnerved her." The group gazed at Mrs. De Peyster's face. A murmur of sympathy and understanding ran among them. "In her hysterical condition," continued Mr. Pyecroft, "she had but one thought, and that was to get home as quickly as she could. She crossed to England, sailed on the Mauretania, kept to her stateroom, and arrived here at the house heavily veiled about an hour ago. I may add the details that she sailed under the name of Miss Harriman and that her trunks are now at the Cunard pier. There you have the entire story, gentlemen." He looked down at Mrs. De Peyster. "I believe I have stated the matter just as you outlined it to us?" "Ye--yes," breathed Mrs. De Peyster. "There is no detail you would like to add?" "N--none," breathed Mrs. De Peyster. "Then, gentlemen," said Mr. Pyecroft, turning to the reporters, "since you have all the facts, and since Mrs. De Peyster is in a state bordering on collapse, we would take it as a favor if--" "No need to dismiss us," put in Mr. Mayfair. "We're in a bigger hurry to leave than you are to have us go. God, boys," he ejaculated to his fellows, "what a peach of a story!" In a twinkling Mr. Mayfair and his fellows of the press had vanished, each in the direction of a telephone over which he could hurry this super-sensation into his office. Within the room, all were staring at Mr. Pyecroft, as though in each a whirling chaos were striving to shape itself into speech. But before they could become articulate, that sober young gentleman had stepped from out of their midst and, his back to them, was discreetly engrossing himself in the examination of the first object that came to his hands: which chanced to be something lying on top of the exquisite safe--a slender platinum chain with a pendant pearl.