“It’s Kismet,” Barry went on. “If she had confessed to murder I should still have wanted her! In fact, mad as it may seem, I love her better, now, knowing her to be what she is, than I did before.” “Not mad in the least,” Jim commented. “Taking into consideration the way she was brought up, I, myself, harsh though my judgments of frail humanity notoriously are, should feel the same. I could both love and respect the Marguerite who wrote that brave letter. I don’t think I could ever have worked up any real enthusiasm for a living mummy.” “I _know_,” said Barry emphatically, “that one day I shall find her again. When I do, I’m going to marry her if she’ll have me!” “Strong, sound sentiments,” Jim replied. “It is men such as you are who make men such as I am love men such as you are! But the old problem arises; your father.” “I have made up my mind on that point,” Barry declared. “He must not know--yet. It’s hateful, but I mustn’t shatter his illusion. I shall write and tell him I have met the girl of the balcony, and that she is the double of Zalithea--and the daughter of Devina. Those who knew Zalithea will soon forget the resemblance when they hear Marguerite speak. Then, one day, he shall know the truth. Nobody else must ever know.” “We shall have to lie like the Brothers Ananias,” said Jim sadly, “for a time. This prospect appalls my proudly virtuous spirit. But it’s up to you. What you say, goes. Meanwhile, a full week has elapsed and our patient inquiries have merely yielded, No, sir. Shall you go on advertising in the Paris papers?” “Yes,” was the answer. “My advertisement means nothing to anyone else. It might as well stand. Who knows?” “Nobody knows,” Jim murmured. “It is ignorance and not knowledge which makes us lose faith in Santa Claus. And this afternoon? Shall I scour the district in and about Batignolles as you so kindly suggest?” “Jim, you’re a brick! This ‘scouring’ is no sort of way to enjoy a holiday in Paris. Just say you’re tired, and I’ll do that part myself to-morrow.” “No, no, Horatio. Batignolles appeals to me because I can’t pronounce it. And have I not said many times that I long for the life of a detective? ‘All forms of shadowing undertaken. Your pay roll guarded by machine-gun experts (in uniform). Missing relatives traced by our special staff of lady searchers. Our watchword----’” “Jim! I love you, but----” “Guilty! Dismiss the jury. We reassemble at the Chatham at six for cocktails.” And so the quest went on. Barry had in mind a neighbourhood he had noted during a drive on the outskirts near the old fortifications. Here were discreet villas sheltering behind little gardens which, like the _yashmak_ of a Turkish beauty, merely provoked without concealing. He felt sure that the house he sought would have a garden.