“No. There is a Mrs. Van Santen, who lives in an out-of-the-way town in the States, and whose husband has made his pile in railway stocks; but she has nothing to do with them, nor have the other members of the gang. Each has a different surname or, rather, a dozen.” “And the women--the others?” “I don’t know anything of the one who calls herself Delia; but there is probably a history behind her good-looking mask. The other is a public singer--married--” “Married?” echoed Gerard. “Yes--husband in America, or was. She may now be the wife of the man who calls himself Harry Van Santen. He’s a precious scoundrel, the worse of the two, if anything.” Gerard was appalled. The thought that Miss Davison had been living under the same roof with these dangerous criminals was terrible, and he stammered out something of his thoughts. The colonel glanced at him quickly, and nodded. “Only a woman of the finest pluck and the most indomitable spirit could have done it. The strain must have been tremendous,” he said. “However, we couldn’t have brought things to a head without her help.” “To play the spy--on the people who thought she was their friend!” stammered Gerard. “That’s not exactly the case,” returned the colonel in a voice too low for his niece to hear. “She helped to keep the house going. I know, for we supplied the money.” Gerard uttered an exclamation. Then he sat back as if stunned. “Then she is--a detective!” he almost gasped. “Well, she has been acting in that capacity,” admitted Colonel Ormsby. “I wish she would go on with the career. She began it at my suggestion, on my fervent advice. She has been a great success, an unparalleled success. If you were wise, you, as I understand, have great influence with her, would advise her to keep on with it.” Gerard said nothing. He did not see the look of keen anxiety on the face of Rachel, who had gathered some part of their conversation, and who knew what the subject was that they were discussing. They went on in silence until Piccadilly was reached. Then the colonel turned to his niece. “My dear, where are you going to stay to-night? Will you put up at my hotel?” She shook her head. “I’ve kept on the lodgings in Duke Street,” said she. “I think I’ll go there. And you can come and see me in the morning, and take me to Lady Jennings’. I can’t feel happy till I’ve told the dear old thing everything.” “Very well, my dear. Then I’ll tell Marks to drive to Duke Street.” They drove on, and Miss Davison was helped out by the gentlemen, and Gerard thanked the colonel for having brought him so far on his way, and let the car drive away without him. For Miss Davison had given him a look which he took for permission to speak to her. And as the car drove down the street, they walked up it, side by side, in the quiet night.