"Did she tell you anything?" I asked, adding confidentially, "I have reason to believe that my wife has left us, therefore anything you tell me may assist me in tracing her." The girl glanced at me in genuine surprise. "Do you mean, sir, that madame has--has run away?" she gasped. "No--well, not exactly," I stammered. "But did she tell you anything?" With eyes downcast the girl paused in hesitation, answering at last, "She didn't actually tell me anything." "But what do you know about her intentions?" "Nothing," she answered. Then, after a pause, she added, "Well, to tell you the truth, sir, I had suspicions." "Of what? Do not fear to speak because I am her husband," I said reassuringly. "I may as well know the worst at once." "She used frequently to receive notes from a gentleman. They were brought by a commissionaire or by a man-servant, who waited for the answer. When they came I always knew that on the following day she would be absent many hours." "You believe that she met this mysterious individual--eh?" I asked huskily. "Yes, for she always told me never to admit to you that she had been long absent. Therefore I had suspicion that she met somebody clandestinely." "What was his name?" "I have never been able to ascertain. Once I glanced at a note lying on madame's dressing-table. It merely announced the writer's intention to attend Lady Pearson's `at home,' and was signed `X.'" "Well," I said hoarsely, after a long silence. "What else?" "Nothing," she replied. "That is all I know, sir." "Has my wife taken her jewels?" I inquired. "No. She has left her jewel-case unlocked, but everything is there. She has even left behind her wedding-ring." "Her wedding-ring!" I echoed, astounded and dismayed. "Then she has discarded me completely." "Unfortunately it appears so, sir," the girl observed gravely. "Very well, Roberts," I said in a broken voice. "Thank you. You may go." The girl glanced at me for an instant, with a sad, pitying look, then turned and left, closing the door noiselessly behind her.