Gwen, he knew, had kept a diary. Where was that? His photographs, where were they? His last letter to her? The certificates? Had they all been duly destroyed by her? Had she forgotten nothing? But when he had attempted to spur L'Estrange, the woman had flown into a fury, and he had allowed himself to lose his temper. How bitter now was his remorse at this folly! He ought to have kept some one in perpetuity in the flat, till all fear of anything lying hidden in it was past. He suspected now that L'Estrange might have found some document, and had kept it from him through his not being well in her favor during the last weeks of her residence. He groaned aloud at this childishness of his. It was his business to have kept in touch with her, to have made her rich. But it was not too late. So, on the following evening, he presented himself at the stage-door of the theater where Miss Ermyn L'Estrange was then displaying her charms, in his hand an _écrin_ containing a _rivière_ of diamonds. He said not one word about his motive for coming to her after so long, but put out an every-day hand, as if no dispute had been between them. "Well, this is a surprise!" said she. "What's the game now?" "No game," said he, assuming the necessary jauntiness. "Should old acquaintance be forgot?" They drove together to the Café Royal. "It was just as I tell you," she explained in the cab, driving later to Chelsea. "I never saw one morsel of any paper until that last day, when the two certificates dropped out of the picture, and them I wouldn't give you because of the tiff. I'm awfully sorry now that I didn't," she glanced down at the _rivière_ on her palm; "but there, it's done, and can't be undone--nature of the beast, I s'pose." "And you really think Jenny has them? Are you sure, now? Are you sure?" asked Van Hupfeldt, earnestly.