"I was about to ask you to dine with me to-night," disappointedly.

"Can't; awfully sorry, Abby. It was only luck that I met you in the

Luxembourg. Be over about seven. I was very glad to see you again."

Abbott kicked a broken easel into a corner. "All right. If anything turns

up I'll let you know. You're at the Grand?"

"Yes. By-by."

"I know what's the matter with him," mused the artist, alone. "Some woman

has chucked him. Silly little fool, probably."

Courtlandt went down-stairs and out into the boulevard. Frankly, he was

beginning to feel concerned. He still held to his original opinion that

the diva had disappeared of her own free will; but if the machinery of the

police had been started, he realized that his own safety would eventually

become involved. By this time, he reasoned, there would not be a hotel in

Paris free of surveillance. Naturally, blond strangers would be in demand.

The complications that would follow his own arrest were not to be ignored.

He agreed with his conscience that he had not acted with dignity in

forcing his way into her apartment. But that night he had been at odds

with convention; his spirit had been that of the marauding old Dutchman of

the seventeenth century. He perfectly well knew that she was in the right

as far as the pistol-shot was concerned. Further, he knew that he could

quash any charge she might make in that direction by the simplest of

declarations; and to avoid this simplest of declarations she would prefer

silence above all things. They knew each other tolerably well.

It was extremely fortunate that he had not been to the hotel since

Saturday. He went directly to the war-office. The great and powerful man

there was the only hope left. They had met some years before in Algiers,

where Courtlandt had rendered him a very real service.

"I did not expect you to the minute," the great man said pleasantly. "You

will not mind waiting for a few minutes."

"Not in the least. Only, I'm in a deuce of a mess," frankly and directly.

"Innocently enough, I've stuck my head into the police net."

"Is it possible that now I can pay my debt to you?"

"Such as it is. Have you read the article in the newspapers regarding the

disappearance of Signorina da Toscana, the singer?"

"Yes."

"I am the unknown blond. To-morrow morning I want you to go with me to the

prefecture and state that I was with you all of Saturday and Sunday; that

on Monday you and your wife dined with me, that yesterday we went to the

aviation meet, and later to the Odéon."

"In brief, an alibi?" smiling now.

"Exactly. I shall need one."




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