She told me all her things were packed, as she was to have left for Paris that night, alone. The order received from her father was, that she should remain in an obscure lodging near Rue la Harpe, the address of which, he had given her. There she would receive further instructions. These instructions, she told me, were to come either from her father, or from Paulton. She had strict orders not to communicate with Davies. Her luggage was in Brighton. Sir Charles and Lady Thorold had been staying in Brighton, and she had come up that morning. Paulton had met her at Victoria, and taken her in a cab direct to her father's empty house in Belgrave Street. He had told her that if she dared go out before he came to her at ten that night, he would go to the police. "But who is this man Davies?" I asked. "A friend." "But cannot you tell me something more concerning him?" I demanded. "At present, no. I regret, Dick, that I am not allowed to say anything--my lips are sealed." "And Paulton. Why obey him so subserviently?" "Ah!" she sighed. "Because I am compelled." With these rebuffs, I was forced to be satisfied. With regard to the plan for recovering her luggage, I rose to the occasion. After pondering the problem for a quarter of an hour, I suggested that she should write a note to her mother in Brighton, saying that Paulton had suddenly changed his plans, and that her luggage was wanted at once. It was to have been sent off at eight o'clock that night, when Paulton would meet it at Victoria, she had told me. The bearer of the note we would now send to Brighton--a District Messenger-- would be instructed to bring the luggage back with him. I looked up the trains in the railway-guide, and found it would be just possible for the messenger to do this in the time. To avoid any mishap, I told the messenger to alight, on his return journey, at Clapham Junction, and bring the luggage from there, in a taxi, to the hotel near Russell Square. We dined together upstairs, at the _Trocadero_--ah! how I enjoyed that evening! How delightful it was to sit _tete-a-tete_ with her. Before we had finished dinner, word was brought to us that Vera's luggage had arrived. "I think I managed that rather well," I said. "Don't you?" "No," she answered, "I don't." "No?" "As you ask me, I may as well tell you that I think you could hardly have `managed' it worse. You have simply put Paulton on my track." "But how?"