To-morrow Penelope would be home, and he had learned something. If ever so little, still it was something, and now that he had made such a successful start he began to feel hopeful of a final success. He knew now where the dress had been made and he knew a man had called for it. He had engaged the two messenger boys, and with them he intended to search the town over for the man who got the dress which the dead girl had worn. Once he found the man, then the rest would be easy. Richard took Dido to the Eden Musée, and after she had seen all the figures that interested her, Dick took her up to the cosy retreat above the orchestra, where the tall green palms cut off the glare of the electric light. He ordered some ice cream for Dido and some Culmbacher for himself, and lighting a cigarette he gave himself up to the influence of the beautiful Hungarian music and dreams of Penelope. The music sobbed and sighed, and Dick drifted on dream-clouds and was lazily happy. He would solve the mystery, he felt sure, and then what years of happiness with Penelope stretched before him. What a great thing it was to be happy; life is so short, why should people allow themselves to be unhappy for a second if they can possibly avoid it? An unusual tenderness filled his heart, a peaceful happiness stole over him, making him very gentle. And poor little Dido, how dreary life loomed up before her! Dick’s heart swelled with pity, and he sympathetically took the girl’s hand in his and looked tenderly into the soft, brown eyes that looked at him so trustingly. There was so much happiness and love in waiting for him and Penelope, but what did life offer to poor, lonely Dido? And as the sobbing music ended in one long thrill, Richard, raising his eyes from the richly tinted face of this sweet girl companion, saw standing before him, with white face and stern eyes-- Penelope. CHAPTER XII. ONE AND THE SAME. At the sight of Penelope Richard was dumbfounded. He stifled a first impulse to spring to his feet and greet her when he saw her stern, white and reproachful face, and sitting still tried slyly to drop Dido’s hand. With an almost imperceptible bow of recognition, Penelope went on after her aunt and a gentleman who, unnoticed, had in advance passed Dick and his companion. “D---- it!” said Dick, warmly, in an undertone, and then he thought: “I’m in for it now. Penelope will never believe that thinking of my love for her made me feel a great pity for this lonely girl. She will say I was making love to her, because I held her hand, and she will never forgive it. What an ass I am to risk a life-time of happiness with Penelope, just to sympathize with a girl whose life is lonely, and yet, poor little devil--It’s all up with Penelope, I know. I can tell by the look on her face that she will not forgive or believe me. I’ll give up. It’s no use now trying to solve the Park mystery--no use trying to do anything.”