man's heart is as hollow as a sentrybox, and, besides, he has not
been in Europe for nearly twenty years. Ah, I see! Perhaps a bit of
blackmail--some early indiscretion! She did speak about the girl!
Then I must be the silent partner of her future harvest! She probably
needs a man's arm to reach the wary old Baronet in future. My lady
writes in no uncertain tone."

He carefully folded the note and bestowed it safely with the spoil
of the young patrician. "Of course I must show up," he said as he
betook himself to his tub whence he emerged shapely as an Adonis
with the corded torso of an athlete. The appetizing breakfast put
the Major in excellent humor, and he drew forth his "sailing orders"
as he lit his first cheroot. Seated in a window recess, he watched
the hotel frontage, while he read the imperative lines again. They
were explicit enough and had been dictated en reine. "Meet me at
the Musee Rath, in the vestibule at two o'clock. He leaves here at
one-thirty. Keep away from the hotel and avoid us both. Go up to
Ferney and come back on the one o'clock boat."

There was a neat carte de visite in the inclosure.

"Now, I will wager that is not her name," he smiled as he read the
Italian script.

"I can certainly now afford to throw a day or so away on her. At
any rate, I will let her make the game. I must wait a day or so to
send on the Grindlay check," the wanderer mused, smiling genially
upon the head porter. Major Alan Hawke casually inquired, upon his
leisurely descent, "My friend?"