Why she should hold him in equal fear with the police and throw away the aid he was so eager to give, was a mystery his excited mind did not even try to solve. It was plain she did not want to see him, yet his sudden, overmastering love, made reckless by his loss of her, roused in him one resistless impulse--to try to find her again. What he should do when she was found he did not pause to consider. Putting on his big overcoat and fur cap, and assuming his best air of composure, he sallied forth into the hall and descended the minor stairway that led to the side entrance. That he knows he is on a wild-goose chase, is no check to the search of a frantic man. Every bit of sense told Drexel he would not find her he sought, yet he cautiously glanced into such side-street shops as were still open; he scrutinised each woman who hurried through the bitter cold on foot and the robe-buried occupants of the tiny whizzing sleighs; he watched each prowling group of gendarmes to see if they held her in their midst; he peered in at the doors of cafes--into poor ones where only tea was drunk--into rich ones, dazzlingly bright, where jewelled gowns and brilliant uniforms were feasting on Europe’s richest foods and wines. But it was as his sense had foretold. No sight of her was anywhere. Toward midnight the thought came to him that it was barely possible she had left the hotel for but a moment, and that she had returned and was perhaps in distress because of his desertion. He turned back toward the Metropole. But as he drew near it, his steps slowed. He remembered the dinner he had ordered, the police official he had sent for; both had doubtless arrived long since and found him gone. The danger ahead cleared his mind, and, going hesitatingly forward, he was pondering whether he should risk himself anew on so slight a chance of giving aid, when the matter was decided in a wholly unexpected manner. As he was passing a street lamp, a young fellow with a few papers under his arm stepped before him. “Buy a paper, Your Excellency,” he snuffled, shooting a keen upward glance at Drexel. “Don’t want any,” Drexel curtly returned, and pushed by him. “Mr. Drexel?” the young fellow called in a cautious voice. Startled, Drexel pivoted about. His interceptor was perhaps nineteen or twenty, squat of build and very poorly dressed. “See here--what do you want?” “Don’t go back to the Metropole.” “Why?” “You’ll be arrested.” This warning might be intended as a service, and again it might be a new trap. “How do you know?” Drexel asked suspiciously. “I, and others, have been on the watch for two hours.” “What for?” “To warn you. We were afraid you might not understand your danger and might try to come back.” Drexel stepped nearer. “What do you know about this?” “That you went to the Hotel Metropole with a girl, as your wife--that she ran away--that you went out to hunt her--that the disappearance of you both has aroused the police.”