The answer was more perplexing than the one from Brussels: "Baron von Dressdorf not known--no such place as Kioske." Heavens! Was I in a dream? For three weeks I continued my search, wandering about in a haggard, broken manner, dreading every day to be stricken with brain fever. I could not sleep for thinking of the poor lad, whose big, pleading eyes seemed to look up into mine from every side. He haunted me. One day I was watching the crowd pass the corner of the Thun Strasse, when my hand was clasped, and a cheery voice rang in my ear: "Mortimer, old fellow, by all that's glorious! Who would ever have thought of meeting you here?" It was Harvey Lawson, my old college chum. "But you are sick, man. You look clean out of condition. Come up into my den--mind those stairs--here you are--take that arm-chair. You see I'm 'own correspondent' to the 'Daily Growler.' There's a pipe. Will you have beer or wine? And, now, what have you been doing with yourself?" I told him all, and my story certainly awakened much interest in him. "What was the date of your leaving Brussels?" "Wednesday, September 17." "Just a month ago. Hand me that file of papers at your elbow." He selected one, glanced at it a moment. "Ah, yes, here it is." "What?" I cried eagerly, the blood flying to my face. "What was the name of the advocate?" he persisted with all the gravity of a judge. "Auguste Danneris." "And his office, 170 Rue des Allumettes?" "Yes, yes!" "The _pension_ in the Porte de Schaerbeck?" "Yes." "The youth--black eyes, black hair, high forehead, projecting chin, height five feet three?" "Yes." "Spoke English well?" "Remarkably well for a foreigner--and so young." "Had a slight impediment in pronouncing the letter _p_." "Yes, I tried to correct the dear boy of the habit." "Did, eh?" "I did, and with some success too." "And went by the name of Jules von Dressdorf?" "Yes." "Then, by the lord Harry! Master Mortimer, you've immortalized yourself. You've abducted the most accomplished little _dame d'industrie_ Paris ever produced--you've snatched from under the very noses of a cordon of French and Flemish police the princess of adventuresses, Adele de la Voix, spy, thief, forger--ay, and if suspicion points truly, murderess--for she is believed to have poisoned an accomplice at Ghent after consummating the robbery of the Comtesse de Nemour's jewels. A pretty piece of business truly." I was dazed. He handed me the journal, and I read for myself the whole of the infamous plot. "By George, that boarding-school dodge was an excellent one, worthy of her greatness--threw the police off the scent for ten days," said Harvey with a grin. "Then, when the police got on the right track again," he continued, "it was too late; she had eloped with you. O Lord, it's too good," and he lay back in his chair and roared. "By heavens, if you are not quiet, I'll pitch you out of the window."