"Ivan Baroff" turned out to be a polished and agreeable person who at once frankly explained that he belonged to the International Police. Indeed while shaking hands with his visitor he observed pleasantly, "This is not the kind of work with which I have, as a rule, anything to do, but my colleagues have asked me to see you, Mr. Stephens, because I have lived in England, and am familiar with your difficult language. I wish to entertain you on a rather delicate matter. I am sure I may count on your discretion, and, may I add, your sympathy?"

The English lawyer looked straight at the suave-spoken detective. What the devil did the man mean? "Certainly," said he, "certainly you can count on my discretion, Monsieur Baroff, and--and my sympathy. I hope I am not unreasonable in hoping that at last the police have obtained some kind of due to Mr. Dampier's whereabouts."

"No," said the other indifferently. "That I regret to tell you is not the case; they are, however, prosecuting their enquiries with the greatest zeal--of hat you may rest a.s.sured."

"So I have been told again and again," Mr. Stephens spoke rather impatiently. "It seems strange--I think I may say so to you who are, like myself, a foreigner--it seems strange, I say, that the French police, who are supposed to be so extraordinarily clever, should have failed to find even a trace of this missing man. Mr. John Dampier can't have vanished from the face of the earth: dead or alive, he must be somewhere!"

"There is of course no proof at all that Mr. Dampier ever arrived in Paris," observed the detective significantly.

"No, there is no actual proof that he did so," replied the English solicitor frankly. "There I agree! But there is ample proof that he was coming to Paris. And, as I suppose you know, the Paris police have satisfied themselves that Mr. and Mrs. Dampier stayed both in Ma.r.s.eilles and in Lyons."

"Yes, I am aware of that; as also--" he checked himself. "But what I have to say to you to-day, my dear sir, is only indirectly concerned with Mr.

Dampier's disappearance. I am really here to ask if you cannot exert your influence with the Burton family, with the American Senator, that is, and more particularly with his son, to behave in a reasonable manner."

"I don't quite understand what you mean."

"Well, it is not so very easy to explain! All I can say is that young Mr.

Burton is making himself very officious, and very disagreeable. He has adopted a profession which here, at the Prefecture of Police, we naturally detest"--the Russian smiled, but not at all pleasantly--"I mean that of the amateur detective! He is determined to find Mr. Dampier--or perhaps it would be more true to say"--he shrugged his shoulders--"that he wishes--the wish perhaps being, as you so cleverly say in England, father to the thought--to be quite convinced of that unfortunate gentleman's obliteration from life. He has brought himself to believe--but perhaps he has already told you what he thinks--?"

He waited a moment.

But the English lawyer made no sign of having understood what the other wished to imply. "They have all talked to me," he said mildly, "Senator Burton, Mr. Burton, Miss Burton; every conceivable possibility has been discussed by us."

"Indeed? Well, with so many clever people all trying together it would be strange if not one hit upon the truth!" The detective spoke with good-natured sarcasm.

"Perhaps we have hit upon it," said Mr. Stephens suddenly. "What do you think, Monsieur Baroff?"

"I do not think at all!" he said pettishly. "I am far too absorbed in my own tiresome job--that of keeping my young Princes and Grand Dukes out of sc.r.a.pes--to trouble about this peculiar affair. But to return to what I was saying. You are of course aware that Mr. Gerald Burton is convinced, and very foolishly convinced (for there is not an atom of proof, or of anything likely to lead to proof), that this Mr. Dampier was murdered, if not by the Poulains, then by some friend of theirs in the Hotel Saint Ange. The foolish fellow has as good as said so to more than one of our officials."

"I know such is Mr. Burton's theory," answered Mr. Stephens frankly, "and it is one very difficult to shake. In fact I may tell you that I have already tried to make him see the folly of the notion, and how it is almost certainly far from the truth."

"It is not only far from the truth, it is absolutely untrue," said the Russian impressively. "But what I now wish to convey to the young man is that should he be so ill-advised as to do what he is thinking of doing he will make it very disagreeable for the lady in whom he takes so strangely violent an interest--"

"What exactly do you mean, Monsieur Baroff?"

"This Mr. Gerald Burton is thinking of enlisting the help of the American newspaper men in Paris. He wishes them to raise the question in their journals."

"I do not think he would do that without consulting his father or me," said Mr. Stephens quickly. He felt dismayed by the other's manner. Monsieur Baroff's tone had become menacing, almost discourteous.

"Should this headstrong young man do anything of that kind," went on the detective, "he will put an end to the efforts we are making to find Mrs.

Dampier's husband. In fact I think I may say that if the mystery is never solved, it will be thanks to his headstrong folly and belief in himself."

With this the disagreeable interview came to an end, and though the English lawyer never confided the details of this curious conversation to any living soul, he did make an opportunity of conveying Ivan Baroff's warning to Gerald Burton.

"Before leaving Paris," he said earnestly, "there is one thing I want to impress upon you, Mr. Burton. Do not let any newspaper people get hold of this story; I can imagine nothing that would more distress poor Mrs.

Dampier. She would be exposed to very odious happenings if this disappearance of her husband were made, in any wide sense of the word, public. And then I need not tell you that the Paris Police have a very great dislike to press publicity; they are doing their very best--of that I am convinced--to probe the mystery."

Gerald Burton hesitated. "I should have thought," he said, "that it would at least be worth while to offer a reward in all the Paris papers. I find that such rewards are often offered in England, Mr. Stephens."

"Yes--they are. And very, very seldom with any good result," answered the lawyer drily. "In fact all the best minds concerned with the question of crime have a great dislike to the reward system. Not once in a hundred cases is it of any use. In fact it is only valuable when it may induce a criminal to turn 'King's evidence.' But in this case I pray you to believe me when I say that we are not seeking to discover the track of any criminal--" in his own mind he added the words, "unless we take John Dampier to be one!"

It was on the morning of Mr. Stephens' departure from Paris, in fact when he and Senator Burton, who had gone to see him off, were actually in the station, walking up and down the Salle des Pas Perdus, that the lawyer uttered the words which finally made up the American Senator's mind for him.

"You have been so more than good to Mrs. Dampier," the Englishman said earnestly, "that I do not feel it would be fair, Mr. Senator, to leave you in ignorance of my personal conviction concerning this painful affair."

The American turned and looked at his companion. "Yes?" he said with suppressed eagerness. "Yes, Mr. Stephens, I shall be sincerely grateful for your honest opinion."

They had all three--he and Daisy and Gerald--tried to make this Englishman say what he really thought, but with a courtesy that was sometimes grave, sometimes smiling, Mr. Stephens had eluded their surely legitimate curiosity.

Even now the lawyer hesitated, but at last he spoke out what he believed to be the truth.

"It is my honest opinion that this disappearance of Mr. Dampier is painful rather than mysterious. I believe that poor Nancy Tremain's bridegroom, actuated by some motive to which we may never have the clue, made up his mind to disappear. When faced with responsibilities for which they have no mind men before now have often disappeared, Mr. Senator. Lawyers and doctors, if their experience extend over a good many years, come across stories even more extraordinary than that which has been concerning us now!"

"I take it," said Senator Burton slowly, "that you did not form a good impression of this Mr. Dampier?"

The lawyer again hesitated, much as he had hesitated when asked the same question by young Burton, but this time he answered quite truthfully.

"Well, no, I did not! True, he seemed entirely indifferent as to how the money of his future wife was settled; indeed I could not help feeling that he was culpably careless about the whole matter. But even so I had one or two very disagreeable interviews with him. You see, Senator Burton, the man was madly in love; he had persuaded poor Nancy to be married at once--and by at once I mean within a fortnight of their engagement. He seemed strangely afraid of losing her, and I keenly resented this feeling on his part, for a more loyal little soul doesn't live. She has quite a nice fortune, you know, and for my part I should have liked her to marry some honest country gentleman in her own country--not an artist living in Paris."

"You don't attach much importance to love, Mr. Stephens?"

The lawyer laughed. "Quite enough!" he exclaimed. "Love causes more trouble in the world than everything else put together--at any rate it does to members of my profession. But to return to poor Nancy. She's a fascinating little creature!" He shot a quick glance at Senator Burton, but the latter only said cordially:--

"Yes, as fascinating as she's pretty!"

"Well, she had plenty of chances of making a good marriage--but no one touched her heart till this big, ugly fellow came along. So of course I had to make the best of it!" He waited a moment and then went on. "I ought to tell you that at my suggestion Dampier took out a large insurance policy on his own life: I didn't think it right that he should bring, as it were, nothing into settlement, the more so that Nancy had insisted, on her side, that all her money should go to him at her death, and that whether they had any children or not! You know what women are?" he shrugged his shoulders.

"If that be so," observed the Senator, "then money can have had nothing to do with his disappearance."

"I'm not so sure of that! In fact I've been wondering uneasily during the last few days whether, owing to his being an artist, and to his having lived so much abroad, John Dampier could have been foolish enough to suppose that in the case of his disappearance the insurance money would be paid over to Mrs. Dampier. That, of course, would be one important reason why he should wish to obliterate himself as completely as he seems to have done. I need hardly tell you, Mr. Senator, that the Insurance Office would laugh in my face if I were to try and make them pay. Why, years will have to elapse before our courts would even consider the probability of death."

"I now understand your view," said the Senator gravely. "But even if it be the true solution, it does not explain the inexplicable difference between Mrs. Dampier's statement and that of the Poulains--I mean, their statements as to what happened the night Mr. and Mrs. Dampier arrived in Paris."

"No," said the lawyer reluctantly. "I admit that to me this is the one inexplicable part of the whole story. And I also confess that as to that one matter I find it impossible to make up my mind. If I had not known poor little Nancy all her life, I should believe, knowing what women are capable of doing if urged thereto by pride or pain--I should believe, I say, that she had made up this strange story to account for her husband's having left her! I could tell you more than one tale of a woman having deceived not only her lawyer, but, later, a judge and a jury, as to such a point of fact. But from what I know of Mrs. Dampier she would be quite incapable of inventing, or perhaps what is quite as much to the purpose, of keeping up such a deception."

"From something my daughter said," observed Senator Burton, "I think you have been trying to persuade the poor little lady to go back to England?"

"Yes, I tried to make her come back with me to-day. And I am bound to say that I succeeded better than I expected to do, for though she refuses to come now, she does intend to do so when you yourselves leave Paris, Mr.

Senator. Fortunately she does not know what sort of a time she will come back to: I fear that most of her friends will feel exactly as I feel; they will not believe that John Dampier has disappeared save of his own free will--and some of them will suppose it their duty to tell her so!"

"It is the view evidently held by the French police," observed the Senator.

The English lawyer shrugged his shoulders. "Of course it is! The fact that Dampier had hardly any money on him disposes of any crime theory. A wonderful thing the Paris police system, Mr. Burton!"

And the other cordially agreed; nothing could have been more courteous, more kind, more intelligent, than the behaviour of the high police officials, from the Prefect himself downwards, over the whole business.

Mr. Stephens glanced up at the huge station clock. "I have only five minutes left," he said. "But I want to say again how much I appreciate your extraordinary kindness and goodness to my poor client. And, Mr. Senator?

There's just one thing more I want to say to you--" For the first time the English lawyer looked awkward and ill at ease.