“On possibility. If it is possible to be done it will be done; and whether we succeed or fail, you may rely on no time being lost. Will your lordship kindly give me all the particulars?” The father told the history of the boy’s abduction, as Mrs. Grandison had given it to him. “And this foreign, handsome lady who took the child away, do you happen to know her name?” Did he happen to know Lucille’s name! Good Heavens, how strange such a question seemed! But it was one thing to know her name, and vow hatred of her, and another thing to give to the police the name of a woman he once made love to. He hesitated. The inspector looked up from the sheet of paper on which he had been taking down the particulars. The inspector, believing the other had not heard, repeated the question. “Bah!” thought Lord Francis, “why should I hesitate? She has not hesitated to lie and to steal Ronny; and Fenella’s life is in the scales.” He said aloud: “The lady is French;” the inspector recommenced writing; “her name is Mme. de Vigny.” The inspector looked up again, this time with a start, laid down his pen, and cleared his throat as though to clear his mind. “May I ask your lordship to repeat the name?” “Mme. de Vigny--Lucille de Vigny. Do you know anything of her?” “Perhaps,” said the inspector, touching an electric bell. A policeman in uniform entered. The inspector handed the man a slip of paper. The constable withdrew. In a few moments he returned, handed some documents to his superior officer, and retired. “Does your lordship happen to know anything of this Mme. Lucille de Vigny before she came to England a few years ago?” “Absolutely nothing.” “I suppose we are talking of the same lady”--the inspector looked down at his papers--“a tall, strikingly handsome, dark woman of about thirty-five or forty now. She was in the Prospect Hotel, Harrogate, at the time of the late tragic occurrence there, though she was not herself brought into the case.” “Yes, that is the lady.” “Well, we do know something of her here. We have been keeping an eye on her for a little time at the request of the French police. A French detective has been over here about her. It was not until the day before yesterday, when instructions came from Paris to act, that we knew she had left the country.” “Left the country!” cried Lord Francis, falling back on his chair in consternation.