It is no use sketching Roper's portrait, for like Proteus he had many shapes, and what the real Roper was no one knew. One day he would be a parson, the next, a sporting gentleman, the third day a tramp, and so on, until the noble fraternity of thieves actually began to suspect each other, so ubiquitous and clever was the famous detective. "It's the strangest case I was ever in," said Mr. Roper, in his soft, low voice; "but one which it will be a pleasure to work at. At present we have the merest clue. Now, the great thing is to follow it up." "First," said Foster, taking some papers from the drawer of his desk, "let us look at the divorce case, 'Verschoyle v. Verschoyle and Macgregor.'" "Oh, we know all about that!" said Ronald, impatiently. "Not all of it," replied Gerald, smoothing the brief. "In the first place what do you think was the name of Mrs. Verschoyle?" "Her maiden name?" "Yes." "I don't know." "Then I will tell you. Cotoner!" "What?" Ronald sprang to his feet as pale as death. "Yes," said Julian Roper, pulling out his pocket-book; "did not a lady of that name come on board the 'Neptune' at Malta?" "My God!" cried Ronald, madly, "you don't mean to say----" "We mean to say nothing," answered Foster, quietly; "except that the young lady you know is innocent of this crime." Ronald gave a kind of strangled sob. "It is sacrilege even to think of her in connection with it!" he said, in a stifled voice; his young face now haggard with pain. "Why, the Maltese wife was thirty, and Miss Cotoner is only twenty-six! Vassalla, her cousin, was with her all the time she was on board before the ship started. She had no motive for killing Verschoyle. She didn't even know him when I spoke about him." "Not as Verschoyle, no," from Roper. "Do you believe this?" asked Ronald, savagely. "No, I don't," replied the detective, blandly; "but we may as well look at all sides of the question. I daresay Miss Cotoner is as innocent as you or I of this crime. Still, we must lose no opportunity of getting evidence." "Stop a moment," said Ronald, calmly; "because the name of Mrs. Verschoyle was Cotoner I do not see that Miss Cotoner is implicated--there are, no doubt, more people than one of that name in Valletta." "Of course there are," said Foster, quietly; "but Miss Cotoner's mother's maiden name was Vassalla." "What?" "Yes! that was the reason of my surprise, when I heard the name last night." "That proves nothing." "Only that her cousin's name is also Vassalla. So it proves, pretty clearly, that Miss Cotoner is Mrs. Verschoyle's sister." Ronald groaned; for there flashed across him Verschoyle's remark that his wife had Arab blood in her veins, and that Miss Cotoner had made the same statement at Gibraltar; so it seemed true, after all. "Go on," he said, huskily; "what is to be done now?" "The best thing to be done," said Roper, quietly, "is to find out some one who knew Verschoyle." "Yes, but how can you find out such a person?"