Westerham picked up again the six-shooter which he had laid carelessly at his side. “Have a look,” he said, and his voice was gently persuasive. Just a flicker of vindictiveness crept into Melun's eyes, and under the suasion of firearms he turned again to the bag. After a few moments Westerham, now schooled to infinite placidity, inquired for the second time if he had found anything. “Only a few papers,” said Captain Melun, crossly. “Pardon me,” said the baronet, “if I am not mistaken you have found only one paper. Be kind enough to hand it to me.” The captain turned about, and with a carefully-manicured hand offered Westerham a slip of paper which had evidently been torn from some English periodical. Westerham took it and looked at it casually, though the muscles on his closed jaws stood out in a manner that was not wholly pleasant to look upon. It was, however, with unfathomable eyes that he surveyed the scrap of paper before him. It revealed the portrait of a girl with an astonishingly quiet face. Her cheeks were round and soft, and her chin was round and soft too, but her mouth, a little full and pronounced, was distinctly sad and set. A pair of large dark eyes looked out upon the world unwaveringly and serenely, if a little sorrowfully, beneath a pair of finely-pencilled, level brows, which formed, as it were, a little bar of inflexible resolve. A mass of dark hair was coiled upon the girl's head after the manner of early Victorian heroines. It was a face at once striking and wistful in its splendour. The piece of paper had been torn with a jagged edge across the girl's throat, so that the inscription which would have borne her name was lacking. Westerham looked up from the picture to Melun. “You,” he said simply, “go everywhere and know everybody. Therefore I feel confident that you will be able to tell me the name of this girl. That is all I ask you—at present.” Captain Melun laughed and then checked his laughter. “The lady,” he said, “is Lady Kathleen Carfax, the only child of the Earl of Penshurst, who is, as even you are probably aware”—there was a covert sneer in his tones—“Prime Minister of England.” “So!” murmured Westerham, and he nodded his head. “Yes,” said Captain Melun, “and if it is of any interest to you to know it, I propose to marry Lady Kathleen.” “Indeed,” said Westerham. He folded the paper and placed it carefully in his breast-pocket. “You must forgive my being rude,” he added, “but I should not now be on my way to England if I had not every intention of marrying the lady myself.” CHAPTER II SIR PAUL WESTERHAM BUYS THE CRIME SYNDICATE Captain Melun was a man used to being hard hit. He was steeled against cunningly and swiftly-dealt blows, such as he himself administered, but this declaration of Sir Paul Westerham, that he intended to marry the Lady Kathleen, took him quite aback.