Van Ingen coloured warmly. "Pardon me, it is not natural, sir, when you know all the circumstances. I was an intimate of the family--almost, one might say, in the position of a son." He halted, and then continued, with a certain dignity: "I have not spoken on the subject to you before, sir, chiefly because there has been nothing definite to say. But Miss Grayson is, I hope and pray, sir, my future wife." "Ah!" The ambassador surveyed him with a keen but kindly glance. "I feel bound," he observed thoughtfully, "to make a few remarks, both as your guardian and as a man who has seen something of the world. The wife of a rising young diplomat must be, like Cæsar's wife, above reproach. In short, my dear boy, to marry Miss Grayson will absolutely ruin your career." Van Ingen sprang to his feet; his face was livid with anger. "Then, sir," he cried hotly, "I shall ruin my career, with the greatest pleasure in life. Miss Grayson--Doris--is worth inestimably more to me than any paltry success, or material advantage. Moreover," he continued, composing himself with a strong effort, "I disagree with you, even upon worldly grounds. Marriage with Doris will not mar me--it will make me. Without her, I shall be ineffectual, a nobody to the end of my days. Without her, living has no aim, no purpose. She justifies existence. I can't explain these things, sir, even to you. I--I love her!" "So it would seem!" murmured the ambassador. The sternness had melted out of his face, leaving a whimsical tenderness. "Sit down, my dear boy! Other people have been as hot in love as you before now--and as rashly headstrong." A shade passed over his features. "Come, let us get down to business. What is it you wish me to do--administer a love-potion to the young woman? Or restore the father to life?" "I want you to investigate the case," Cord replied simply. "Or rather, give me the power to do so." "There's Scotland Yard, you know," suggested his friend mildly. "They could co-operate with us. In fact, that is what I should like to ask. That you send for Mr. T. B. Smith, who is already in charge of the business, and tell him that a certain strangeness in the circumstances has aroused your suspicions, and that you wish to sift the affair to the bottom. But since you cannot move openly, on account of your conspicuous position, you desire to join forces secretly, and to that end you offer a bonus of £500 to clear up the mystery--to prove, satisfactorily, that Grayson either is, or is not, dead." "Five hundred pounds!" mused the ambassador. "You are in love!" Van Ingen flushed at the thrust. "I am in earnest," he said simply.