The American pursued: "And this cousin of mine? There's another type I shall be interested to see. Tell me about her, Miss Smith, will you? Have you known her long?" "Oh, yes," I said. "It's some years since I've known Miss Million." "And well, considering the difference in your positions, that is?" "Oh, yes, fairly well," I said, thinking of the many artless confidences I'd listened to from Miss Million--then "Million," of our disgracefully inconvenient little kitchen at Putney. Those far-away days seemed very pleasant and peaceful to me to-night! But they--those kitchen days--were no part of the business of the young man at my side. "D'you get on with her?" he said. "Oh, yes, thank you." "You don't tell me much. It's this English reserve I'm always up against. It's a thing you'd need an ice-axe for, I guess, or a hundred years with your families living in the same village," complained the young American, laughing ruefully. "Were you two girls raised together? School together?" "Oh, no." He sighed and went off on another tack. "Can't you tell me the way she looks, so as to prepare me some for when I see her?" he suggested. "Does she resemble you, Miss Smith?" "I don't think so," I said, suppressing a foolish giggle. It was the first time I'd wanted to laugh at anything for the last twenty-four hours. "No; Miss Million is--well, she's about my height. But she's dark." "I've always admired the small brunette woman myself," admitted Mr. Hiram P. Jessop, adding quickly and courteously: "Not that I don't think it's perfectly lovely to see a blonde with the bright chestnut hair and the brown eyes that you have." "Thank you," I said. "And how soon can I see this little dark-haired cousin of mine?" went on the American when we turned out of the Gardens. Unobtrusively the Scotland Yard man had risen also. "What time can I call around this evening?" "I--I don't know when she'll be in," I hesitated. "Where's she gone to?" persisted the cousin of this missing heiress. "How long did she go for?" I fenced with this question until we arrived at the very doors of the Cecil again. Then an impulse seized me. All day long I had wrestled alone with this trouble of mine. I hadn't consulted Mr. Brace. I had kept it from the Honorable Jim. I had put up all sorts of pretences about it to the people at the hotel. But I felt now that it would have to come out. I couldn't stand it any longer. I turned to Miss Million's cousin. "Mr. Jessop, I must tell you," I said in a serious and measured voice. "The truth is I don't know!" "What?" he took up, startled. "Are you telling me that you don't know where my cousin is at this moment?" I nodded. "I wish I did know," I said fervently. And as we stood, a little aside from the glass doors in the vestibule, I went on, in soft, rapid tones, to tell him the story of Miss Million's disappearance from my horizon since half-past eleven last night.