"In short," said Foster, replacing the letter on the table; "you are so much in love with her that you cannot see her imperfections?" "I am not blind to them, if that's what you mean," retorted Ronald, doggedly; "but all I know is, I love her, and intend to ask her to be my wife." "Ah! well, as soon as this mystery is cleared up." "I understand," said Foster, rising from his chair, and walking to and fro; "but, judging from this letter of Roper's, the elucidation seems as far off as ever." "I don't see that--for, taking all things into consideration, I am inclined to think Mrs. Verschoyle is telling a lie." "Oh! so you believe she was on board the 'Neptune' that night?" Ronald nodded. "There's no proof." "Certainly, not any actual proof," said Ronald, quietly; "but I think it is very probable that Roper's theory is correct, and she did leave her bedroom, lock the door, and then return without anyone seeing her." "Well, the whole affair is easily settled--go and see Miss Cotoner, or Vassalla, and ask them if Mrs. Verschoyle came on board--they will certainly know." "I don't believe Miss Cotoner knows anything about it," said Ronald, angrily; "if they quarrelled before leaving the house, you may be certain that Mrs. Verschoyle never came near her on the boat." "But Miss Cotoner might have seen her sister." "She might; but I won't ask her." "Well, my dear boy," said Foster, rather annoyed at this sentimental obstinacy; "go and see Vassalla." "Yes, I'll do that--he'll be able to tell me whether she was on board or not." "No doubt--if it suit him to acknowledge it," retorted Foster, dryly. "What do you mean?" asked the Australian, impatiently; "you think----" "I mean nothing--I think nothing," replied the other, quickly; "go and see the Marchese Vassalla, and then tell me what you discover." "And then----" "Well, then, it depends on his answers regarding our next move." Ronald put on his hat and gloves, then, taking his leave, went outside into the roar and bustle of Fleet Street. Through an archway he could see the quiet Temple Gardens, and could not help contrasting their solitariness and charm with the turmoil on the pavements. "Hang it!" he said to himself, as he watched the busy crowds rushing past, "everyone here seems to live with their watches in their hands; I should not like to live here, but I suppose I'll have to stop till I find out all about Verschoyle's death;" and this last reflection putting him in mind of his engagement, he stepped into a hansom, and drove off to the Langham Hotel, to see Vassalla.