"You mustn't be horrid about Jasper," she said quickly; "he never speaks about you unkindly." "I don't see why he should," said Frank; "but let's get off a subject which is--" "Which is--what?" she challenged "Which is controversial," said Frank diplomatically. She came down to the station to see him off. As he looked out of the window, waving his farewells, he thought he had never seen a more lovely being or one more desirable. It was in the afternoon of that day which saw Frank Merrill speeding toward the Swiss frontier and Paris that Mr. Rex Holland strode into the Palace Hotel at Montreux and seated himself at a table in the restaurant. The hour was late and the room was almost deserted. Giovanni, the head waiter, recognized him and came hurriedly across the room. "Ah, m'sieur," he said, "you are back from England. I didn't expect you till the winter sports had started. Is Paris very dull?" "I didn't come through Paris," said the other shortly; "there are many roads leading to Switzerland." "But few pleasant roads, m'sieur. I have come to Montreux by all manner of ways--from Paris, through Pontarlier, through Ostend, Brussels, through the Hook of Holland and Amsterdam, but Paris is the only way for the man who is flying to this beautiful land." The man at the table said nothing, scanning the menu carefully. He looked tired as one who had taken a very long journey. "It may interest you to know," he said, after he had given his order and as Giovanni was turning away, "that I came by the longest route. Tell me, Giovanni, have you a man called Merrill staying at the hotel?" "No, m'sieur," said the other. "Is he a friend of yours?" Mr. Rex Holland smiled. "In a sense he is a friend, in a sense he is not," he said flippantly, and offered no further enlightenment, although Giovanni waited with a deferential cock of his head. Later, when he had finished his modest dinner, he strolled into the one long street of the town, returning to the writing room of the hotel with a number of papers which included the visitors' list, a publication printed in English, and which, as it related the comings and goings of visitors, not only to Lausanne, Montreux, and Teritet, but also to Evian and Geneva, enjoyed a fair circulation. He sat at the table, and, drawing a sheet of paper from the rack, wrote, addressed an envelope to Frank Merrill, esquire, Hotel de France, Geneva, slipped it into the hotel pillar box, and went to bed. "There's a letter here for Frank," said the girl. "I wonder if it is from his agent." She examined the envelope, which bore the Montreux postmark. "I should imagine it is," said Saul Arthur Mann. "Well, I am going to open it, anyway," said the girl. "Poor Frank! He will be in a state of suspense." She tore open the envelope, and took out a letter. Mr. Mann saw her face go white, and the letter trembled in her hand. Without a word she passed it to him, and he read: