"Never mind the book, but--how did you come to write this?"

"I--I didn't notice what I wrote," she said, in confusion.

"Do you mean to say that you don't _know_ what you wrote?"

"I don't know at all," she replied with evident sincerity.

"It's the damnedest thing I ever heard of," he muttered. And then, with a
puzzled look: "See here, I guess I've been too previous. I'll cut out that
banquet to-night--that is, I'll show up for soup and fish, and then I'll
come to you. Do I get a smile now?"

"O Lloyd!" she murmured happily.

"I'll be there about nine."

"About nine," she repeated, and again her eyes turned anxiously to the
blood-red western sky.




CHAPTER II

COQUENIL'S GREATEST CASE


After leaving Notre-Dame, Paul Coquenil directed his steps toward the
prefecture of police, but halfway across the square he glanced back at the