Louison left to give the needy Pole a clue. "They are separated,
and Anstruther and the Swiss schoolmistress are harmless. I have
only my play to make upon the lovely Justine, and to retake up
my old friendship with Hugh Fraser. Then I am ready to bit by bit
unravel the story of Valerie Delavigne's child--the Veiled Rose of
Delhi."

"Between a father with a secret to keep, and this strange woman
with a purpose, there is a pretty girl and a vast fortune at issue,
besides the prospective pickings of Madame Berthe Louison." These
musings of the Major led him up to the question of his employer's
false name, as he swept down to the nearby Montreux station. "She
evidently had traced the child to Switzerland, and was upon a still
hunt to find out the home of the growing heiress, and,--for what
purpose? Ah! One day after another," he pleasantly exclaimed, as
he saw the artist awaiting him. "Peu apeu I'oiseau fait son nid."
He had already evolved a scheme to permanently separate Casimir
Wieniawski from his own beautiful employer, who was now dashing
along well on her way toward Munich. Alan Hawke was startled at the
distinguished appearance of the musician. An aristocratic pallor
refined his face, he was neatly booted and gloved, the elegant
lines of the Pole's supple figure were displayed in a morning frock
coat, and his chapeau de soie was virginal in its gloss.

"Some of my own twenty pounds," mused Alan Hawke, as he gayly sprang
out and saluted his dupe. "Ah! There you are. You look to-day the
old Casimir. Let us have a few last words before the boat arrives."

Hardened as he was, Alan Hawke was surprised at the childlike
lightness of the Pole's manner when they encountered the fresh