Paul de Virieu opened his lips--but no sound came from them. The sudden
sense of relief from what had been agonised suspense gripped him by the
throat.

He brushed past Wachner, and made straight for the door behind which he
felt sure of finding the woman whom some instinct told him he had saved
from a terrible fate....

He turned the handle of the dining-room door, and then stopped short, for
he was amazed at the sight which met his eyes.

Sylvia was sitting at a round table; behind her was the buffet, still
laden with the remains of a simple meal. Her face was hidden in her
hands, and she was trembling--shaking as though she had the ague.

But what amazed Paul de Virieu was the sight of Sylvia's hostess. Madame
Wachner was crawling about on her hands and knees on the floor, and she
remained in the same odd position when the dining-room door opened.

At last she looked up, and seeing who stood there, staring down at her,
she raised herself with some difficulty, looking to the Frenchman's
sharpened consciousness, like some monstrous greedy beast, suddenly
baulked of its prey.

"Such a misfortune!" she exclaimed in English. "Such a very great
misfortune! The necklace of our friend 'as broken, and 'er beautiful
pearls are rolling all over the floor! We 'ave been trying, Fritz and
myself, to pick them up for 'er. Is not that so, Sylvia? Mrs. Bailey is
so distressed! It 'as made 'er feel very faint, what English people call
'queer'. But I tell 'er we shall find them all--it is only a matter of a