For four days I awaited Madame's visit, but no note came from Elise. The latter was, no doubt, too occupied with her Italian lover. I could not write to her, as she had not given me the name by which she was known at the Excelsior. Compelled, therefore, to play a waiting game, I remained with my eyes ever open to catch sight of one or other of the mysterious quartette. But I was disappointed, for on this fifth day I made inquiry, and to my utter dismay discovered that the same tactics had been adopted in Palermo as in Abbazia. The whole four had suddenly disappeared! Greatly puzzled, the Parson returned to London. I nevertheless remained in Italy until May, when back again I found myself, one bright afternoon about five o'clock, descending from the car outside the house in Toddington Terrace, my intention being to pay a call upon Madame Demidoff. My ring was answered by a neat maidservant in smart cap and apron. Next instant we stared at each other in speechless amazement. It was Elise! Utterly confused, her face first flushed scarlet, and then blanched. "You--you want to see Madame," she managed to stammer in her broken English. "She isn't at home!" Beyond her, in the hall, stood the tall figure of a man, whom I at once recognised as the mysterious Wilkinson. "But, mademoiselle," I said, smiling, yet wondering, the motive of that masquerade. "I called also to see you." She drew herself up in an instant, replying with some hauteur: "I think, m'sieur, you have made some mistake. We have never met before--to my knowledge." Her reply staggered me. "When will Madame Demidoff return?" I inquired, amazed at this reception. "To-morrow--at this hour," was her rather hesitating reply. "Then I shall be glad if you will give her my card, and say I will call," I said; "that is if you still deny having met me in Tirnovo and in Palermo?" "I really do not know what you are talking about, m'sieur," she answered, and then, without further parley, closed the door in my face. I stood still, staggered. Surely my reception at Toddington Terrace was the reverse of cordial. Next afternoon at the same hour I called at Number 10, but there was no response to my ring, and the blinds were all down again. The place was deserted, for the tenants had evidently fled. That same night as I sat in my rooms, a short, thick-set man, who gave the name of Payne, was ushered in. "I think," he said, "your Highness happens to know something of an old lady named Demidoff and her friends who live in Toddington Terrace?" "Yes," I replied, much surprised. "Well," he explained, "I'm a police officer, and I watched you go twice to the house, so I thought you knew something about them. Are they your friends?" "Well, no; not exactly my friends," I replied, very suspicious of my visitor. "I had never been nearer a man from Scotland Yard in all my life! Imagine my position, my dear Diprose!"