In thwarted wretchedness, the girl realized that it would be worse than useless to make such protests to Sanders. _He_ was the detective, not she--though he had complimented her upon her "smartness" in the matter of the ring and the magnifying-glass. He would only pity and despise her for jealousy and prejudice if she gave him the advice she burned to give. And Jack--Jack was _hopeless_! He was lost to her. She felt as miserably alone as if Jack had not promised to be her "knight," and as if he had not brought to her one of the best private detectives in the land. She longed to strike out on her own account, to be first in the field, and be able to say to these men: "See, while you were wandering all round Robin Hood's barn, _I've_ found the place where the secret was buried, and dug it up!" It was mostly about Pat that Juliet thought, and his disappearance. Upon the pearls she wasted little anxiety, though she hated to think that Pavoya should have them. She had cried out to Pat that she believed not one word of the dancer's story: and she had meant it at the time; but brooding alone over the history of Pavoya's years, and the link between her and Pat, Juliet found herself almost arbitrarily accepting certain details here and there. Yes, that must have been the way those two first met! Pat had told her that he had heard the call of romance in Russia--his great-great-grandfather's romance--and had left Oxford to spend the long vacation among those scenes. How like Pat at nineteen to create a romance of his own on the same spot! Her heart yearned to Pat with the thought that he had helped Pavoya because of _charity_, not love. In that case he had told the truth--or as much truth as his wife could expect of a man where women were concerned. But certainly, Juliet assured herself, Pavoya had loved Pat and moved heaven and earth to compromise him. That was really why she'd asked him to lend her the pearls. No doubt she'd begged for the real ones, and he'd lent her the copy. She'd kept the wretched beads, not because of some melodramatic blackmail "stunt," but because she wished to wear them as if they were real, and get herself talked about with Pat. Then, he'd married, and having sent to France for the true pearls for his wife, he couldn't leave the false ones knocking about for Pavoya to play with. He'd practically ordered the woman to return them; and in revenge, when an amazing chance came her way, Pavoya had somehow stolen the genuine rope, changing the contents of the packet! It all seemed clearer and clearer to Juliet, and she wondered that a man with such good brains as Jack's could be so easily deceived. In pride of her own superior talent as a detective, the girl would have had moments of triumphant joy had it not been for her wearing anxiety about Pat.