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ENISE RYLAND was lunching that day with Dr. Cumberly and his daughter at Palace Mansions; and as was usually the case when this trio met, the conversation turned upon the mystery.

“I have just seen Leroux,” said the physician, as he took his seat, “and I have told him that he must go for a drive to-morrow. I have released him from his room, and given him the run of the place again, but until he can get right away, complete recovery is impossible. A little cheerful company might be useful, though. You might look in and see him for a while, Helen?”

Helen met her father’s eyes, gravely, and replied, with perfect composure, “I will do so with pleasure. Miss Ryland will come with me.”

“Suppose,” said Denise Ryland, assuming her most truculent air, “you leave off…talking in that…frigid manner…my dear. Considering that Mira…Leroux and I were…old friends, and that you…are old friends of hers, too, and considering that I spend…my life amongst…people who very sensibly call…