LITMIR.BIZ

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      She looked up in Senator Burton's face with a bewildered, pleading look, and he suddenly realised how difficult a task such a letter would be to her, supposing, that is, that the story she told, the story in which even now the Senator only half believed--were true.

      "I'll go up and write the letter now," she said, and together they both went, once more, indoors.

      But Gerald Burton, when he heard of the proposed letter to Mrs. Dampier's lawyer, made an abrupt suggestion which both the Senator and Nancy welcomed with eagerness.

      "Why shouldn't we telephone to this Mr. Stephens?" he asked. "That would save a day, and it would be far easier to explain to him all that has happened by word of mouth than in a letter--" He turned to Nancy, and his voice unconsciously softened: "If you will trust me, I will explain the situation to your friend, Mrs. Dampier."

      The father and son's drive to the Central Paris-London-Telephone office was curiously silent, though both the older and the younger man felt full of unwonted excitement.

      "Now, at last, I am on the track of the truth!" such was the Senator's secret thought. But he would not have been very much surprised had no such name as that of Davies P. Stephens, Solicitor, 58 Lincoln's Inn Fields, appeared in the London Telephone Directory. But yes, there the name was, and Gerald showed it to his father with a gleam of triumph.

      "You will want patience--a good deal of patience," said the attendant mournfully.

      Gerald Burton smiled. He was quite used to long-distance telephoning at home. "All right!" he said cheerily. "I've plenty of patience!"

      But though the young man claimed to have plenty of patience he felt far too excited, far too strung up and full of suspense, for the due exercise of that difficult virtue.

      The real reason why he had suggested this telephone message, instead of a letter or a telegram, was that he longed for his father's suspicions to be set at rest.

      Gerald Burton resented keenly, far more keenly than did his sister, the Senator's lack of belief in Nancy Dampier's story. He himself would have staked his life on the truthfulness of this woman whom he had only known three days.

      At last the sharp, insistent note of the telephone bell rang out, and he stept up into the call-box.

      "Mr. Stephens' office?" He spoke questioningly: and after what seemed a long pause the answer came, muffled but audible. "Yes, yes! This is Mr. Stephens' office. Who is it wants us from Paris?" The question was put in a Cockney voice, and the London twang seemed exaggerated by its transmission over those miles and miles of wire by land, under the sea, and then by land again.

      "I want to speak to Mr. Stephens himself," said Gerald Burton very distinctly.

      "Mr. Stephens? Yes, he's here all right. I'll take a message."

      "Make him come himself."

      "Yes, he's here. Give me your message--" the words were again a little muffled.

      "I can't send a message. You must fetch him." Gerald Burton's stock of patience was giving way. Again there was an irritating pause, but it was broken at last.

      "Who is it? I can't fetch him if you won't say who you are."

      "I am speaking on behalf of Mrs. Dampier," said Gerald reluctantly. Somehow he hated uttering Nancy's name to this tiresome unknown.

      And then began an absurd interchange of words at cross purposes.

      "Mr. Larkspur?"

      "No," said Gerald. "Mrs. Dampier."

      "Yes," said the clerk. "Yes, I quite understand. L. for London--"

      Gerald lost his temper--"D. for damn!" he shouted, "Dampier."

      And then, at last, with a shrill laugh that sounded strange and eerie, the clerk repeated, "Dampier--Mr. John Dampier? Yes, sir. What can we do for you?"

      "Mrs. Dampier!"

      "Mrs. Dampier? Yes, sir. I'll fetch Mr. Stephens." The clerk's voice had altered; it had become respectful, politely enquiring.

      And at last with intense relief, Gerald Burton heard a low clear, incisive voice uttering the words: "Is that Mrs. Dampier herself speaking?"

      Instinctively Gerald's own voice lowered. "No, I am speaking for Mrs. Dampier."

      The English lawyer's voice hardened, or so it seemed to the young American. It became many degrees colder. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Dampier. Yes? What can I do for you?"

      And as Gerald, taken oddly aback by the unseen man's very natural mistake, did not answer for a moment or two:

      "Nothing wrong with Nancy, I hope?"

      The anxious question sounded very, very clear.

      "There is something very wrong with Mrs. Dampier--can you hear me clearly?"

      "Yes, yes What is wrong with her?"

      "Mrs. Dampier is in great trouble. Mr. Dampier has disappeared."

      The strange thing which had happened was told in those four words, but Gerald Burton naturally went on to explain, or rather to try to explain, the extraordinary situation which had arisen, to Nancy's lawyer and friend.

      Mr. Stephens did not waste any time in exclamations of surprise or pity. Once he had grasped the main facts, his words were few and to the point.

      "Tell Mrs. Dampier," he said, speaking very distinctly, "that if she has no news of her husband by Friday I will come myself to Paris. I cannot do so before. Meanwhile, I strongly advise that she, or preferably you for her, communicate with the police--try and see the Prefect of Police himself. I myself once obtained much courteous help from the Paris Prefect of Police."

      Gerald stept down from the stuffy, dark telephone box. He turned to the attendant:--"How much do I owe you?" he asked briefly.

      "A hundred and twenty francs, Monsieur," said the man suavely.

      The Senator drew near. "That was an expensive suggestion of yours, Gerald," he observed smiling, as the other put down six gold pieces. And then he said, "Well?"

      "Well, father, there's not much to tell. This Mr. Stephens will come over on Friday if there's still no news of Mr. Dampier by then. He wants us to go to the Prefecture of Police. He says we ought to try and get at the Prefect of Police himself."

      There came a long pause: the two were walking along a crowded street. Suddenly Gerald stopped and turned to the Senator. "Father," he said impulsively, "I suppose that now, at last, you do believe Mrs. Dampier's story?"

      The young man spoke with a vehemence and depth of feeling which disturbed his father. What a good thing it was that this English lawyer was coming to relieve them all from a weight and anxiety which was becoming, to the Senator himself, if not to the two younger people, quite intolerable.

      "Well," he said at last, "I am of course glad to know that everything, so far, goes to prove that Mrs. Dampier's account of herself is true."

      "That being so, don't you think the Hôtel Saint Ange ought to be searched?"

      "Searched?" repeated Senator Burton slowly. "Searched for what?"

      "If I had charge of this business--I mean sole charge--the first thing I would do would be to have the Hôtel Saint Ange searched from top to bottom!" said Gerald vehemently.

      "Is that Mrs. Dampier's suggestion?"

      "No, father, it's mine. I had a talk with that boy Jules last night, and I'm convinced he's lying. There's another thing I should like to do. I should like to go to the office of the 'New York Herald' and enlist the editor's help. I would have done it long ago if this man Dampier had been an American."

      "And you would have done a very foolish thing, my boy." The Senator spoke with more dry decision than was his wont. "Come, come, Gerald, you and I mustn't quarrel over this affair! Let us think of the immediate thing to do." He put his hand on his son's arm.

      "Yes, father?"

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