"Together with his wallet and some personal letters. It seems a clear case." The reporter hesitated a moment. "It is not as yet known to the public, but I think I may tell it to you that Mr. T.B. Smith has been given charge of the matter. He will probably wish to know your address. And in the meantime, if you run across anything----" "Certainly! I will let you know. Smith is an able man, of course." Van Ingen gave the number of his chambers, and retreated hastily, glad that the man had questioned him no further. Out in the fresh air he drew a deep breath of relief, which ended in a sigh. But, at any rate, he had not betrayed his suspicions, if indeed they could be termed suspicions--those wild surmises which had flashed like forked lightning across the blackness of his mind. He found his cab and flung himself wearily back against the cushions. And now for Doris! But Doris was not visible. Lady Dinsmore met him in the morning-room, her usually serene countenance full of trouble. He took her hand in silence. "It is good of you, my dear Cord, to come so quickly. You have heard all?" He nodded. "How is Doris?" She sank into a chair and shook her head. "The child is taking it terribly hard! Quite tearless, but with a face like frozen marble! She refused quite scornfully to believe the news, until she saw his own handwriting. Then she fainted. She fell to the floor at the man's feet as if she had been stabbed to the heart." Lady Dinsmore took out her lace handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "Doris," she continued in a moment, "has sent for Count Poltavo." Van Ingen started. "Why?" he demanded in a low voice. "I cannot say, definitely," she replied, with a sigh. "She is a silent girl. But I fancy she feels that the count knows something---- She believes that Gerald met with foul play." Cord leaned forward breathlessly. "My own idea!" he articulated. Lady Dinsmore surveyed him with faint, good-humoured scorn. "You do not know Gerald!" she said finally. "But--I do not follow you! If it was not murder it must have been suicide. But why should Grayson kill himself?" "I am sure that he had not the slightest idea of doing anything so unselfish," returned Lady Dinsmore composedly. "Then what----" She leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. "Why are you so absolutely sure that he is dead?" she asked softly. Cord stared at her in blank amazement. "What do you mean?" he gasped. "Was she mad also?" "Simply that he is no more dead than you or I," she retorted coolly. "What evidence have we? A letter, in his own handwriting, telling us gravely that he has decided to die! Does it sound probable? It is a safe presumption that that is the farthest thing from his intentions. For when did Gerald ever tell the truth concerning his movements? No, depend on it, he is not dead. But, for purposes of his own, he is pretending to be. He has decided to exist--surreptitiously."