the speaker threw an alarmed look behind him; but there was no one to overhear. "The lady have wait in her carriage reply," he hastened to inform Inspector Byde.

"Come here," proceeded Mr. Toppin, with insular brutality, "whom do you think you've been getting at? The next time you go down to the Prefecture, you tell Monsieur Hy that you've made my acquaintance—that is to say, the acquaintance of Mr. Detective Thomas Toppin, of the English Sûreté-Yes! And don't you talk so much about the police. Your overdoing it, young fellur!"

Mr. Toppin was superb, just now. If anything, he was the junior of the two; but he had the assurance which accompanies mediocrity. When he said a thing, he not only looked as if he meant it, every word of it, but as if he meant a good deal more than, out of consideration for his hearer, he would wish to put into words. He did not, as a rule, however, mean very much more than he actually expressed, to do him justice. He was a remarkly fine young man, with-by nature--a portentous cast of countenance; and he always imposed upon other mediocrities, and sometimes upon quite superior persons.

The recipient of the missive hurried through the vestibule, and crossed the pavement outside. A private carriage stood waiting nearly opposite the hotel entrance.

"I'm so sorry to trouble you, Mr. Byde," said Mrs. Bertram, as she approached the window-"but you must lay the blame on this wilful young lady here. She would insist upon our calling to see if you had any news, and we have come expressly. There!-now justify yourself, Adela!"

"Oh, have you any news, Mr. Byde?" exclaimed Miss Knollys, her profile suddenly emerging from the deep shadow. "You haven't any bad news, have you?" In the

young lady's accent the inspector distinguished that he was implored not to have bad news to communicate. "I feel sure there ought to be no bad news—but the suspense is terrible." The full rays of the carriage lamps fell on the inspector's face, as he listened, but the obscurity of the interior shrouded both occupants from his own view. The figure of Miss Knollys appeared the vaguest of outlines to him. When she had impulsively bent forward, the bright eyes which he had seen filled with tears glistened clearly through the gloom; and, now, as a little half-nervous, half-apologetic laugh ended her appeal, the dark shadow seemed to be touched by one transient ray from a star.

Yes, he would certainly do whatever he could-whatever he could-for a charming young lady like this, thought Mr. Byde: a charming young lady, so--Eh? Why, what on earth--! Two or three of favourite couplets rose up simultaneously to rebuke him. And indeed a pretty frame of mind for the systematic opponent of impressionism! What if young people were blessed with good looks-where was the sense

"Where's the sense, direct and moral,

That teeth are pearl, or lips are coral?"

What had he to do with the charms of young ladies personally interested in the results of his investigations —with their charms and with their woes? Very unfortunate for this Mr. Sinclair, if he found he could not prove that

"Ah-you have bad news-that was what I fearedand I was right to come! Something has happened! I knew I knew that something must have happened. Tell me what it is: I have a right to know!—or let us

telegraph, dear Mrs. Bertram-let us telegraph to Austin that we know he has been concealing something from us, and that we want to hear the worst!"

"Ladies, I assure you--" began the inspector.

"My dear, I see no reason why you should imagine that Mr. Sinclair has kept back the worst from you. On the contrary, his letter was exceedingly frank—not only frank, but sensible and businesslike. He told you plainly the position which the arrest placed him in, as far as he could ascertain it, at the moment; and to-day he telegraphs, repeating that he can soon dispose of the entire ridiculous charge."

"Yes, but I know he has done that out of thoughtfulness!" persisted Miss Adela Knollys.

Well, it was abominable, reflected the inspector, if this young gentleman, Mr. Sinclair, were being detained in custody without sufficient cause. To stop a man on suspicion when he was leaving the country might be one thing, but to keep him like that when they had had plenty of time to examine the circumstances against him was quite another, especially looking to the exhaustive character of his (Byde's) own reports, and the hints he had therein furnished. Another case of "appearances," he supposed. "Appearances!" He detested the term. They could be so easily invented, fabricated, or maliciously combined -appearances! Yes, he would certainly do whatever he could to wind this case up sharp, and to help that young gentleman in bringing forward his proofs. It was no fault of his (Byde's) that the young lady before him was attractive.

"Mr. Byde" implored the young lady.

He would help him. And if the arrest had been an error-another good blow at the impressionists!

"You will be candid with me, won't you, Mr. Byde?" Thus beset, the inspector unscrupulously took refuge in the fluent phrases of the hopeful friend. So far as positive information went, he really did not know that for the moment he had anything to impart which could in the slightest degree affect Mr. Austin Sinclair prejudicially; he might go further, and say that certain researches upon which he, together with an extremely able colleague-Detective Toppin, stationed permanently in Paris by Scotland Yard-was at this very minute actively engaged, might not impossibly procure the unconditional release of Mr. Sinclair before the expiration of another fortnight—or, perhaps, ten days—perhaps less. A long time? Yes, it did seem long, no doubt; but we must not be impatient. We must be patient. Things were seldom done well which were done over-quickly. And then at any instant fresh intelligence might reach him from London. For all he knew Mr. Sinclair was triumphantly establishing his utter ignorance of the Park Lane diamond robbery while they-he, Mr. Byde, and the two ladies with whom he cordially sympathised-were now conversing on that very spot. Of course the connection of Mr. Sinclair with the diamond robbery was absurd, preposterous, a totally untenable hypothesis-of course! How could it be? Why, it could not possibly be! Mr. Sinclair would soon be discharged, for want of evidence. The only conceivable witness against him was the man who had since been murdered: he asked pardon for putting the case in a rather hard, practical manner, but that was the way in which it would be put by the authorities over there, and it was best to look at the least favourable aspect of matters like this now, wasn't it? Why, yes. Therefore, we must be patient. We must repose our

faith in justice, and trust to the right arm of the law. As for Mr. Stanislas Wilmot, who laid false informations with malice aforethought, and to compass private objects deliberately sent the Department astray, that gentleman might be called on for an explanation of his conduct, and for redress; and it might be worth while instituting some inquiries as to the history of the Hatton Garden firm, the nature of its transactions, and a good deal more. Diamond "faking" had been managed pretty extensively for some time past. The Department had not yet hit upon the precise source of the larger "faked" diamonds that had been passed off on buyers; but they were on the look-out for diamond merchants with laboratories attached to their domiciles or business premises. These yellow Cape stones, treated with chemicals so as to appear brilliants of the purest water, had been turning up too often lately; and Mr. Stanislas Wilmot might find occasion one of these days to regret that he had drawn upon himself the notice of Scotland Yard.

Miss Knollys apparently deemed it not incompatible with consistency to inveigh anew against her guardian, and, in the same breath, to plead for him very earnestly with Inspector George Byde. Her interposition to the latter effect completed the surrender of Detective Toppin's colleague. He could only respond with a few more soothing aphorisms and sanguine pledges.

Mrs. Bertram said that they had purposely deferred their dinner-hour that evening in order to be able to make their call at the inspector's address. Would Mr. Byde do her the pleasure of returning to dine at the Avenue Marceau? The inspector hastily excused himself, at once explaining the urgency of the situation. It might be that he had already lingered too long; but the