"I'm prepared to bet that I know what you two were talking about," Paulton said lightly, addressing Faulkner. "You were talking of Vera. Ah! Am I wrong? No, I see I'm not. You have told our friend Ashton that she goes to Paris to-night. Well, you are mistaken. Information has reached me that there has been a landslip on the line beyond Beaulieu, and it is blocked in consequence." Then he turned to me. "Would you like to come over to Beaulieu, Ashton?" he said, as though making some quite ordinary request. "My car will be here presently. I can take you too, Faulkner, if you wish to see Miss Deroxe. I am going straight to the _Bristol_." I was about to refuse, when Faulkner spoke. "I should like to go, and Mr. Ashton will of course come." "Good. My car should be here in a quarter of an hour." He strolled over to the bureau, and I heard him inquire for letters. There were several. He took them from the gold-laced porter, sank on to a settee, and began to tear them open. "Why did you accept his offer?" I inquired of Faulkner, in an undertone, as I lit a cigarette. "Never mind," he answered quickly. "I know what I'm doing. Leave everything to me now." At that moment the large glazed double doors leading into the Place in front of the Casino revolved slowly and a tall, imposing-looking woman of thirty-five or so, in rich black furs, which had all the appearance of being valuable, sailed in, followed by her maid carrying a small bag. Paulton, glancing up from his letters, noticed her, and at once sprang to his feet. "Ah, Baronne, how pleasant to meet you again!" he exclaimed, as he approached her. "I expected you here sooner." "I should have been here an hour ago," she exclaimed, "but the train was delayed. This storm is awful!" She had a rich, deep contralto voice, one of those speaking voices that at once arouse interest and curiosity. It aroused interest now, for the guests seated in the hall simultaneously interrupted their conversation in order to look at the new arrival, so striking was her appearance. "I went to the station quite a while ago," Paulton said. "They told me the train could not arrive." "It has not arrived yet, I believe," she answered. "I got off at a wayside station, drove the two miles into Beaulieu, and then hired the car which has just brought me on here." She was indeed a handsome woman, obviously a woman of singular personality. Exceedingly dark, with great coils of blue-black hair that her travelling-veil only partly concealed, she was very handsome still. When I had watched her for nearly a minute, wondering whom she might be, my gaze unconsciously drifted to the quietly-dressed maid who stood respectfully and demurely a few feet behind her mistress, bearing a large leather dressing-case in her hand. Her appearance somehow seemed familiar. Suddenly she turned her face rather more towards me, and I recognised her at once.