"Oh, no!" I said. "Light it, won't you? Have a little smoke with me here. I'm a bit lonesome. I want to get my bearings. Won't you join me in a glass of wine?" That was my first oar in. After some commonplace conversation, as to how the season was, I asked: "Anybody of interest here?" I winked knowingly. Possibly it pleased the courier to have someone to chuckle over a secret. All my oars were in. "At the Grand Hotel de Londres," he said slyly, "there is a gentleman who does not fool me." I offered him another cigarette, helped him to another glass of wine. "He is registered there as Count Techlow, but he can't fool me. He is the Prince Galitzin." "What's he doing; gambling a lot?" (I knew he wasn't.) "No," replied the courier, "he's keeping pretty quiet." "Is there a Countess Techlow?" The courier shook his head. _Buenno!_ The coast seemed clear. I knew it was extremely awkward and often dangerous to tempt the quarry away from a demi-mondaine, especially at Monte Carlo. After chatting some more I bid the courier good night. I would see the Countess the first thing in the morning. Along toward noon I called at the Nouvel Hotel Louvre where von Wedel had told me I would find Countess Chechany. I sent in my own card bearing the name of H. Van Huit, Doorn Kloof, Transvaal (the reader will recall my experience at Doorn Kloof); also von Wedel's card with his signature. I had to wait for some time, but finally the Countess received me in her boudoir. She was in bewitching negligee. From the photograph I was prepared to find a very handsome woman, but shades of Helen! This was Venus, Juno and Minerva--the whole Greek and any other goddesses rolled into one! Tall and willowy, superb of figure, great dark-blue eyes, masses of blue-black wavy hair, full red lips forming a perfect Cupid's bow. But why go on--I might get too enthusiastic, and mislead the reader. After my adventure I never saw the Countess again. I knew that by birth the Colmtess Chechany was a high Hungarian noblewoman. By marriage she was related to the Counts of Tolna Festetics, a leading house in Hungary. Also, she was one of those marvelously beautiful women peculiar to that country. Waving a small jeweled hand, she begged me to take a chair beside her. A cigarette was daintily poised in her fingers. "Be seated, Mr. Van Huit of Transvaal," gazing at me with a roguish grin. We both burst out laughing. Of course she knew what I was. Von Wedel's card showed her that. But, as her next words plainly showed, she knew a great deal more. "I've got a badly sprained ankle, Doctor. Can you do anything for me?"