"Sylvea Baylee."

Turning on his heel, and without even throwing a word of apology to the
astonished, and by now indignant, M. Polperro, Chester rushed out of the
hall and down the stone steps, below which stood the victoria.

"Well?" cried out Paul de Virieu.

"Come into the house--now, at once!" cried Chester, roughly. "Something
extraordinary has happened!"--

The Count jumped out of the carriage, and a moment later the two men
stood together in the hall, careless of the fact that M. Polperro was
staring at them with affrighted eyes.

"This letter purports to be from Sylvia Bailey," exclaimed Chester
hoarsely, "but of course it is nothing of the sort! She never wrote a
line of it. It's entirely unlike her handwriting--and then look at the
absurd signature! What does it mean, Virieu? Can you give me any clue to
what it means?"

The Comte de Virieu raised his head from over the thin sheet of
notepaper, and even Chester, frightened and angry as he now was, could
not help noticing how the other man's face had changed in the last few
moments. From being of a usual healthy sunburn, it had turned so white as
to look almost green under the bright electric light.

"Yes, I think I know what it means," said Count Paul between his teeth.
"A letter like this purported to come from Madame Wolsky when she
disappeared. But do not let us make a scene here. Let us go at once where