When Monsieur Calliard, who, by the way, spoke English very passably, ascertained from the card the occupation of the man who had seated himself at the table, he turned pale and showed considerable signs of embarrassment. Grewgus easily guessed the reasons for his disturbance. This opulent jeweller was no doubt a good bit of a philanderer, and easily attracted by women. His first thought was that his wife suspected him and had put a private inquiry agent on his track. Of course, this notion had to be quickly dispelled. Grewgus explained that he was not at all concerned with the way in which Monsieur Calliard chose to spend his leisure hours, but he was greatly interested in the lady with whom he had dined so frequently. At this reassuring statement, Monsieur Calliard recovered his composure and insisted upon helping his companion to a glass of the very excellent champagne he was drinking with his dinner. It was easy to diagnose him as a free liver, a man of considerable _bonhomie_, and by no means inclined to take a puritan view of life. He answered the questions put to him in the frankest manner. How had he made the acquaintance of the lady, and had he always known her by the name of Glenthorne, as she went sometimes by others? The genial jeweller raised his eyebrows at the second of the two questions. He was evidently going to learn something. “Listen, and I will tell you all about it. I suppose it goes without saying you know who I am?” began Monsieur Calliard. “Certainly,” replied Grewgus, with an amiable smile, “you are a partner in the well-known firm of Dubost Frères of Marseilles.” “Of course it would be easy for you to find out. I suppose I am known to a large circle of waiters in the hotels and restaurants of Paris. I met this young lady first at Trouville last year, where we formed a slight acquaintance. I met her later on in Rome, the acquaintance progressed a little further, and I have only known her under the name of Glenthorne. At both these places she was in the company of her mother, a rather good-looking Jewess.” “She was not formally introduced to you by anybody, I suppose?” Monsieur Calliard shrugged his shoulders with the wealth of gesture typical of his countrymen. “Ah, no. At Trouville I stayed in the same hotel, at Rome I met her casually in the street, and she and her mother dined two or three times with me. She struck me as a very chic and charming young person who had every wish to make herself friendly. But I could not quite place her, and her mother was perhaps just a little in the way at Rome, so that I could not get to know very much about her. She was exceedingly quiet and ladylike, well educated, and the mother seemed a most respectable person.” “At Rome, I take it, you began to get a bit more fascinated, Monsieur Calliard?” suggested the detective.