“We had better fix up the question of the chart,” he said; “that confounded man Amber has upset everything; you know how suspicious women are, and the dear girl suspects you good people of all sorts of sinister plans.” He laughed heartily at the joke of it. A servant appeared at the door and he sent a message to his sister. “I have succeeded in persuading her,” he went on, “to let me have the chart.” Lambaire breathed an inward sigh of relief, and the twinkling eyes of Whitey danced with glee. “It will surprise you to learn that, save for a momentary glimpse, even I have never seen it,” he said, “and really, after all the bother that has been made about the thing, I shall be disappointed if it is not the most lucid of documents.” Cynthia Sutton came into the room at that moment. She favoured Lambaire with a distant bow, and ignored the extravagant politeness of Whitey, who was the only one of the party that stood. Lambaire, with an eye for the beautiful, and having for the first time leisure to observe her, noted with a pleasant feeling of surprise that she was more than ordinarily pretty. Her features were perfectly modelled, her eyes were large and grey, she was slender and tall, and her every movement betrayed her supple grace. For the first time, Lambaire viewed her as a woman, and not as an antagonist, and he enjoyed the experience. She stood by the table where her brother sat, her hands behind her, looking down at him gravely. Whitey derived no small amount of satisfaction from the fact that from where he sat he saw that in one hand she held an envelope of a large size. He guessed that therein was the chart which had been the subject of so much discussion. This proved to be the case, for without preamble, she produced two sheets of paper. The first was a discoloured and stained little map, drawn on thick cartridge paper. It was blistered by heat, and bore indications of rough treatment. The second sheet was clean, and this she placed before her brother. He looked at it wonderingly, then raised his eyes to the girl’s face with a puzzled air. “Yes,” she said, as in answer to his unspoken question, “this is a copy, but I have brought the original that you may compare it.” She laid the discoloured plan by its side. “The copy is a perfect one,” she said. “But why on earth do you want a copy?” For answer she slipped the original into the envelope again. “The copy is for you,” she said, “the original I shall keep.” Sutton was too pleased to secure the plan to care overmuch whether it was the original or a copy. As he pored over it insensibly the two men were drawn to the table. “It is a rum-looking map--my father seems to have gone in a half-circle.” “What I can’t understand is this dotted line,” said the youth, and indicated a straight line that formed the base of an obtuse triangle, the other two sides being formed by the travellers’ route.