'A piece of information which makes your suggestion all the more admirable and your aid all the more valuable. We now have some definite basis of action. When we discover this friend of Foster's, or Griswold's, we shall not only have found the man who will be our best guide as to what we ought to do, but we shall have found the man who will be sure to hit upon the motive of the crime. And now lose no time. Set about your task at once; the sooner it is over, the better for you and for what I have to do. I do not say to you, do it well and do it delicately--that I feel is unnecessary. We have not had half sufficient time to realise how horrid this thing is which has happened; and so much the better, since it has so strangely fallen out that we have come to this side of the world to act in such a tragedy.' Miss Montressor rose and was about to leave the room, when she said: 'Suppose by any possibility I should be wrong, and that this lady is not the original of the miniature, consequently that Mr. Griswold, her husband, is not the murdered man--what will you do in that case?' 'In that case,' said Bryan Duval, 'I shall simply have to communicate with the authorities the fact that Mr. Foster is not the murdered man's real name; this on his own authority, and of course it will be immediately transmitted to London. Go now. You will find me here on your return; I shall not leave the house.' Miss Montressor left him, and, going to her own room, made rapid preparation for the arduous task she had been set. She hurriedly turned over such articles of her wardrobe as had yet been unpacked, searching for those most suitable to the part she was to play. While doing this, her thoughts reverted to the last unprofessional masquerade in which she had indulged, and, by a natural transition, to Mr. Dolby. She had thought very little about him during her voyage out, but as it approached its termination she had occasionally speculated upon whether that gentleman would present himself at the wharf, or whether he would wait and pay her a more dignified visit at her hotel. She had actually spared him a few moments' recollection in all the triumph of her first brilliantly successful appearance on the previous evening. 'Was Mr. Dolby in the house?' she had wondered. 'Was his hand among the number of those which had flung prodigal floral tributes at her feet? Or--was he sulky still?' She had, however, completely forgotten him from the announcement of the supper, and in all the hurry, agitation, and confusion of the ensuing hours of the night, her mind had never once glanced towards him. But now--she selected a plain gray skirt, originally intended to fulfil the once humble office of petticoat, but which was rather an unduly smart morning walking dress for the part she was assuming--she remembered the day on which she had gone to the house in Queen-street, and inquired ineffectually for her angry lover. Even now it was only a