“Oh, I don't know about that. I don't deny that I hoped you might have got hold of some direct clue while at the villa,—but that's always a matter of luck, and Mrs. Erskine looks the kind of woman to keep her own confidence—or the confidence of another, even supposing she knows more than she chooses to say. Besides, remember you gave the very important tip of the loaded revolver which she keeps at hand, and the suggestion about her body-guard, as you think her friends may be.” “You don't agree with me?” The police-officer laughed. “Pointer's away on his holiday. Impenetrable official reserve is the order of the day now, and on your and Mr. Carter's part absolute, unquestioning obedience. Is that a bargain? Thank you; I was sure that you would both see the necessity for my making that an essential of your co-operation. And you must be patient, Miss West. As I told Mr. Carter, there'll be a lot of spade work to be done, if we are to discover any clues at Nice, before there can be any question of either of you helping.” Like her fiancé, Christine said she did not care how long she had to wait, if only she could be of some use. “Very well, then, we quite understand one another.” Pointer seemed regardless of the fact that Carter's real thoughts were a subject of much doubt to him, and that some of his speculations about them were very far from being understood by that young man—“and agree that no plan can be drawn up until I have reconnoitred thoroughly.” “Would it be a help,” asked Christine, “if I were to stop with Mrs. Erskine again?” “I can't say yet.” “I don't think I like the Chief Inspector as much as I did Mr. Pointer.” Christine's smile robbed the speech of its bluntness. “Oh, don't say that!” implored the officer. “Do be original and have a good word for the police! But now about our going. Mr. Carter can start at once. I shall follow by the day after to-morrow at the outside. If you”—he turned to the Canadian—“will put up at, say, the Negresco or the Angleterre, I shall find your name at once and be able to get into touch with you. Should we meet by chance, we are, of course, strangers. And you, Miss West, if you will let Mr. Carter know where you are stopping near Nice——” “It won't be Avignon!” “—you could meet quietly. But not more than once a week, please, and, naturally, always at different places and on different days. Through him I shall have your address, and if you'll excuse my addressing you inside any letter or telegram or 'phone as Miss”—his eyes fell on an open magazine—“Miss Gladys——” Christine shivered. “—you will know that the message is from me. What name are you going by, Mr. Carter?” “Crane.” “Good, and you are starting?” “To-night, if I can get a ticket. But for God's sake don't let Beale slip through your fingers. Mark my words, _he's_ the man!”