"She was a great friend of Charles'--the Spanish lady--and she came down especially about the book. She said Charles had got into trouble and she wanted the book to save him. Then I showed her the telegram. I was confused, but I wanted to help Charles." She gulped down a sob. "I asked her who Escoltier was." "Yes?" asked Van Ingen quickly. "She said he was a friend of hers who was interested in the book. She went away, but came back soon afterwards and told me that 'Antaxia' was the telegraphic address of a safe deposit in New York. She was very nice and offered to pay for a cable to the deposit. So I wired: 'Please forward by registered post the book deposited by Charles Hyatt'; and I signed it 'Eva Hyatt' and gave my address. By the evening the reply came: 'Forwarded; your previous wire did not comply with our instructions.'" "I see," said Van Ingen. "Well, that is more than I can," said the girl, with a smile, "because only one wire was sent. Miss Dominguez was surprised, too, and a little annoyed, and said: 'How foolish it was of me not to ask you your Christian name.' Well, then she insisted upon my coming to stay with her till the book came. I came expecting I should find Charles, but--but----" Her eyes were filled with tears. "I read in a newspaper that he was dead. It was the first thing I saw in London, the bill of a newspaper----" Van Ingen gave her time to recover her voice. "And Miss Dominguez?" "She took this furnished flat near to hers," said the girl; "she lives here----" "Does she?" asked Van Ingen artlessly. He took up the registered parcel which she had put on the table. It was fairly light. "Now, Miss Hyatt," he said, very gently. "I want you to do something for me; and I must tell you that, although I ask it as a favour, I can enforce my wishes as a right." "I will do anything," said the girl eagerly. "Very well; you must let me take this book away." "But it is not mine; it belongs to Miss Dominguez," she protested; "and it is to save my brother's name----" "Miss Hyatt," said Van Ingen, "I must take this book which has so providentially come into my hands, not to save your brother's name, but to bring to justice the men who took his life." As he spoke there came a knock at the door; and, hastily drying her eyes, the girl opened it. A porter handed her a telegram, and she came back into the light of the room to open it. She read it, and reread it; then looked at Van Ingen with bewilderment written on her face. "What does this mean?" she said. He took the telegram from her hand; it had been readdressed from Falmouth and ran: "By wireless from Port Sybil. Do not part with book to anybody on any account. "CATHERINE DOMINGUEZ." He handed the telegram back. "It means," he said, "that our friend is just two minutes too late." CHAPTER XX AT THE ADMIRALTY