And so, on the following morning, New York revelled in full details of perhaps the most romantic mystery that had ever spread itself over the city’s front pages. Photographs of Zalithea there were none available. Those taken on the day of her arrival, showing her muffled in veils, were at a premium. Danbazzar supplied a brief and strictly untruthful biography of “The Lady Zalithea el-Aziza ed-Dhahir (daughter of the Sheik Mohammed Abd el-Ghuri, of the direct line of the last of the Khalifs and a descendant of the Prophet) entitled by Moslem law and usage to the designation, Princess Zalithea.” As this corresponded with the particulars entered in her passport, no doubts of its accuracy were entertained. A description of Safîyeh was also given. She was cited as a native of Cairo. “This is going to reach Egypt,” said Danbazzar gloomily. “And if I know anything about Tawwab, it’s going to reach the Sheik Mohammed. If it’s made worth his while, he’s sure to say he never had a daughter. What happens next we have to wait and see.” The sensational report issued, John Cumberland and Barry entrenched themselves behind secretaries, refusing to receive any newspaper representatives. Danbazzar discreetly disappeared. So intense was the public curiosity aroused that Professor Blackwell was forced to cancel a course of lectures and to retire to the home of relatives in the Middle West. Wild rumours were circulated freely. Anybody who had ever met Zalithea was interviewed and cross-examined. Thousands who had never even seen her claimed acquaintance for the sake of a brief moment in the limelight. Reports flowed in from places as widely removed as Marseilles and Hollywood. At a cost appalling to estimate, John Cumberland had every one of them taken up and tested. All proved to be mare’s nests. Aunt Micky’s life became a perfect burden to her. If it had not been for her recognition of the fact that Barry was breaking his heart over the affair she would have fled long since. Instinctively she had known from the first that there was some secret in connection with Zalithea which she did not share. Her resentment had been sharpened by what she termed “this damnable publicity.” Save for very old friends, Jim Sakers, Jack Lorrimer, and a few others, society she had none in these days, but was compelled to hide like a fugitive from the tireless persecution of paragraph writers.… Then, it happened--the inexplicable thing; the event that, while it aroused a momentary hope, did so only to dash hope to the ground again. Barry and a secretary were going through the voluminous mail one morning. Barry’s high spirit had quite deserted him. He looked physically ill, and was morose and silent. He hoped for nothing, in all these letters, but inquiries prompted by idle curiosity or lies designed to torture him. Then: