Contessa di Castagneto."

"Oh, but I know her!" said Papillon. "I remember her in Rome two
or three years ago. A deuced pretty woman, very much admired, but
she was in deep mourning then, and went out very little. I wished
she had gone out more. There were lots of men ready to fall at her
feet."

"You were in Rome, then, some time back? Did you ever come across
a man there, Quadling, the banker?"

"Of course I did. Constantly. He was a good deal about--a rather
free-living, self-indulgent sort of chap. And now you mention his
name, I recollect they said he was much smitten by this particular
lady, the Contessa di Castagneto."

"And did she encourage him?" "Lord! how can I tell? Who shall say
how a woman's fancy falls? It might have suited her too. They said
she was not in very good circumstances, and he was thought to be a
rich man. Of course we know better than that now."

"Why _now?_"

"Haven't you heard? It was in the _Figaro_ yesterday, and in all
the Paris papers. Quadling's bank has gone to smash; he has bolted
with all the 'ready' he could lay hands upon."

"He didn't get far, then!" cried Sir Charles. "You look surprised,
Jack. Didn't they tell you? This Quadling was the man murdered in
the sleeping-car. It was no doubt for the money he carried with