The Baron had been watching her closely, trying to read her changing face. “Ah ha!” he exclaimed. “You understand now perhaps some things you could not guess before. Perhaps you remember details of your childhood, almost forgotten. You were three years old when you were stolen, and some recollection sticks in your mind. Is it not so?” “Yes, some recollection sticks in my mind.” Florence wondered grimly what the Baron would say if he knew what her recollections really were. “The villain has robbed you of your birthright,” he repeated, with what seemed to be rising wrath. “But now it shall all be restored. Yes!” Florence nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The situation was too new and strange, and she must move circumspectly. Besides, she was certain the Baron had more to say. She had been taught in a hard school, and was very sure that his actions were not disinterested. So she merely waited. Baron Demidroff did not delay. “Yes,” he reiterated. “It shall all be restored, and the robber shall be punished. But there is more to tell, Princess. To whom, think you, belongs the gold for which the _Sea Spume_ is seeking?” “What gold?” Florence looked innocently into the Baron’s eyes. She would admit nothing until compelled to do so. “What gold? _Mon Dieu_, Princess, do you think we police are fools? Every step of the so-called Miss Fitzhugh and of Monsieur Caruth has been known to us. Almost we captured the letter on the fire-escape in New York. But _Monsieur le valet_ was too cunning for us.” Florence raised her eyes. “So,” she murmured thoughtfully, “it was your agents who murdered Wilkins?” “Executed him, Princess. He was a robber and a murderer, with a long criminal record. We knew him well. His robbery of Monsieur Caruth was his last crime. My men observed him from the fire-escape and acted summarily. That is all.” Florence did not understand half of this. She had been told nothing of Wilkins’s murder, her only knowledge being inferred from what his brother had said to her about it three days before. She laid away in her mind the information the Baron so freely imparted, and waited. “So you let the letter get by you,” she suggested. The Baron flung up his hands. “Alas, yes, Princess. But we watched and waited, and when Miss Fitzhugh organized her little expedition, we guessed that she had somehow gotten the letter. But, _mademoiselle, revenons à nos moulons_! Do you know whose gold it is they seek?” Florence shook her head.