"Nothing--except that he was writing in a hurry after 'settling up with Markoff' and seeing the last of him, for he had 'something rather important to do.' That was all, absolutely all. Captain Manners, you look strange! What have you to tell me in exchange for my story?" "Why, to begin with, that I don't understand as I thought I did, why you've told it," Jack stammered. "I imagined it was because you knew Pat and my cousin had quarrelled, that he had left her--or anyhow disappeared--and you wanted me to justify you with Juliet." Lyda stared at him across the table, her hands suddenly pressed over her heart. "_Mon Dieu!_" she whispered. "Claremanagh disappeared!" "But," went on Jack, collecting his wits, "if you didn't know, what did you mean when you said that Markoff's hand in the pearl business didn't clear up the mystery, but only made it more mysterious?" "I meant, of course, those innuendos in that horrible paper--the hints that the Duchess was wearing false pearls. It is not to Markoff's advantage to start such a rumour now. He has nothing to gain--no longer any hold over Claremanagh or me. He would do himself no good, but much harm. Oh, Captain Manners, where can the Duke be?" "I came here to-night racking my brains vainly as to that," Jack encouraged her. "Now, thanks to you, I've something to go upon, something to tell the detective whom I shall see first thing to-morrow. This Markoff is my starting point now: his scheme of years to steal the pearls. How he can have got into the house, opened the safe, taken the things out of the box, and sealed it up again with the false pearls inside, I can't see yet, but----" Lyda sprang to her feet. "You say--he has done _that_!" "Someone has done that. You--Pat didn't tell you in his letter, about what had happened to the box you must have seen?" "No--no. He didn't mention the pearls--or the box. Who discovered the theft?" "Juliet. Pat gave her the sealed packet, and--she's rather an expert!--she found the pearls were false." "Yet--she wore them." "Yes." "Then that was because she thought I----" "Don't say it!" "Can _you_ say it wasn't her thought?" "She's accused her own husband--whom she adores." "Or me! Was that not it?" Jack was silent. With a little cry Lyda covered her face with her hands, and he saw that she trembled. Hardly knowing what he did he went to her, took the two cold hands and held them to his lips. She looked up to him with eyes bright with tears, and--the next instant she was in his arms. "We'll work together," he said, "you and I. We'll drag this mystery up by the roots. We'll find Pat, wherever he is, and Juliet shall beg your pardon on her knees." CHAPTER XV THE FORTUNE TELLER