She was gone; the power of evil had been stronger than the power of good. And Arden had to face the unhappy mother, when she came back after her useless journey, and to tell her that her child was lost. He went straight to Scotland Yard, obtained the address of a certain Mr. George Jackman, a retired member of the Criminal Investigation Force, now practising the subtle arts of private inquiry, and put the case in his hands, giving a minute description of the girl, together with the name, position, and personal characteristics of the man she was travelling with. "I have heard something of Colonel Manville in Paris, where he's better known than in London," said the detective. "I'm afraid there's not much chance of getting the better of him. Do you want him to marry the young lady, or do you want to get her away from him?" "I want to get her away from him. The idea of marriage is hopeless, and would mean misery for her if it were possible. I want you to follow them to Paris, or farther, if they go beyond Paris. I would hunt them down myself, if I knew how. It isn't a question of sparing myself trouble. But you have the art of trapping a fugitive "I've run down a good many, sir. I'll do what I can in this case. I've friends in Paris-and at Marseilles-friends in the Police. Do you want me to start by the morning train ?" "By the very first train that will carry you." "Good." Arden gave him two five-pound notes, which were all the ready money he had about him, and offered to send further funds to any address the detective might give him. The man wrote an address on the back of his card: "Chez M. Davout, Rue Matamore, 37 bis." "Telegraph to me immediately if you find the girl; and don't let her out of your sight till I am on the spot to look after her," Arden said. It was nearly ten o'clock when he left Mr. Jackman's office, and went back to Jermyn Street, heavy at heart, to tell the wretched mother that the worst had happened. The cherished only child, the joy and pride of lowly hearts, so carefully reared amidst humble surroundings, so fondly loved, had gone the way that leads to perdition. And he knew that Mrs. Berry was a religious woman, a follower of severe evangelical pastors, with something of the old Puritan temper, and that for her sin was sin, and perdition here meant perdition hereafter. She had no wide modern ideas, no philosophical acceptance of humanity's weaknesses and errors, no belief in the indulgent theory that circumstances alter cases and excuse sins. To keep her daughter spotless from the world had been the fervent prayer of her life. Arden knew this, and he had to tell her that her daughter had cast in her lot with the reprobates, a deliberate sinner. He urged every argument that made for consolation; but the case admitted of little comfort. "I will do all that can be done for her," he said. "If it is possible to save her, and bring her back to you, I will do it." If she comes back to "Oh, sir, you have been very good. I know you will do what you can. But my girl is lost. me, she will seem like a stranger. I can never be proud of If she comes back her again. I can never look in her face without feeling ashamed. I shall feel the shame, if she doesn't." "She will feel it, you may be sure. to you, she will come in sorrow and penitence. She will have nothing left her in this life except your pity and your love." "Oh, sir, I don't know. She was like a stranger to me that last day when I took her to her aunt's cottage. And she has been false and deceitful-she that never told me a falsehood in her life till this misery came upon us. That man has been seen near the house late at night, and she has crept downstairs and gone out in the road to meet him when her aunt was in bed. The servant heard her, and looked out of the attic window and saw her walking with him. She only told her mistress this evening, after Lisbeth had gone. It happened three or four times in the dark nights. last month. And then the girl saw and heard nothing more. And she wouldn't tell, because she was fond of Lisbeth." "She ought to have spoken." "Yes, of course she ought. She might have saved my darling if she had told her mistress what was going on. But she is a silly feather-headed girl, and she could do nothing but cry and say that Lisbeth was always kind to her." "Were any letters found?" "Not a line. My sister-in-law had searched the house before I got there, though she ought not to have left her bed, poor thing, with her asthma. Oh, sir, if you could have travelled to Dover in the train with them-if you could have snatched her out of his arms!" "Two minutes earlier and I would have made the attempt; but luck was against me. I was too late. If I had not been fool enough to go back for that wretched bag," added Arden, with a vindictive glance at the morocco travellingbag, which he had brought home-a birthday present to Lisbeth from the indulgent mother, "she couldn't have given me the slip." "It was very unfortunate, sir," said Mrs. Berry, in a voice broken by sobs. She had never ceased crying throughout their conversation, and Arden knew that in the long watches of the night the mother's broken-hearted crying would go on; but that soon after daybreak to-morrow she would be on foot, looking after her servants, and slaving for her lodgers, and carrying her silent grief about with her wherever she moved; and he was intensely sorry for this patient sorrow for which comfort or hope seemed impossible. Lady Mary Selby was at her villa on the Riviera. Arden had not seen her since her dinner-party for the famous novelist, as she left London for the South the next day. She was brilliant and full of clever talk at the head of the dinnertable, airing the Parisian French of which she was so proud, with the novelist on her right hand; but her brother could see the shadow behind the brightness-a shade of discontent, weariness, satiety, the signs of an empty heart and a disappointed life. Her husband, who was inordinately proud of her, saw only the shining surface. "My wife is always at her best when she has literary swells about her. She adores men of genius, and she can talk to them on their own level," he told his friends, pleased with his wife, his house, his wines, and everything that was his. Mary was at Cannes, and there was nothing to be learnt from her. De Courcy Smythe had left London. Arden, had failed in obtaining further details of Colonel Manville's life or character from any of his friends. Several people knew something about him; but the something was always the same outside knowledge that he had obtained from Smythe. Manville had not been seen about town during the winter. He was a cosmopolitan, and loved the sun. He might be in Rome, Naples, Constantinople, or Egypt. For ten days the daily report from Jackman told only of failure. He had employed the Parisian police, and had followed up every possible clue, but without result, though he had reason to believe that Colonel Manville was in Paris. But on the eleventh day there came a letter of more significance. "I have at last succeeded in meeting Colonel Manville, after keeping a close watch upon the club of which I discovered him to be a member. It is the fastest club in Paris, notorious for high play, and rows and scandals of all kinds. Some of the worst duels of the last ten years have been the result of quarrels in the card-room; and the club has the worst possible reputation with the police, though most of the swells belong to it, and everything about the establishment is the tip-top of fashion and luxury. "Colonel Manville drove to the club at three o'clock yesterday afternoon, and did not leave till two this morning. I was in a café within sight of the door till midnight, and in the street afterwards. I followed him to a house in the Rue Royale, where he has rooms on the second floor, and where I have contrived to get on friendly terms with the concierge. Manville has been living in this house off and on during the winter-sometimes going away for as much as a fortnight or three weeks, but making Paris his headquarters. I believe the porter's statements may be relied upon. He told me that Colonel Manville had only returned to his rooms the day before yesterday, after an absence of more than a fortnight. Whether he was in some other quarter of Paris between the night when you saw him in the continental express and his return to his |