“As the grand duchess, no.  But they could mention the name of Ruth Atheson, the Padre’s friend, the Lady Bountiful of his poor, the girl I love.  The Padre has had trouble enough, too, without that scandal in his little flock.”

“I don’t see how you can avoid it.”

“Oh, I can avoid it very simply.  I can send word to the Ministry in question that I know who the lady really is, and that I am almost ready to talk for the public.”

“That’s right, Griffin, you could.  Gee, what a detective you would have made!  You’re sure right.”  He arose, stretched lazily, and walked to the door, where he turned, his hand on the knob.  “If it’s any consolation for you to know, Griffin, they won’t arrest—­they’ll just stick a knife into you.  Good night, and pleasant dreams.”

“Good night, Saunders, and thanks for your cheerful assurances.”

But Mark had no dreams at all for, left alone, he smoked and worried over his problem until morning.

Very early he wrote a long letter, sealed it and put it in his pocket so that he could register it in person.  It was addressed to the British Ambassador.

As Mark passed on his way to the dining room, the hotel clerk gave him a note, remarking:  “That’s a bad-looking hand you have, Mr. Griffin.”

“Yes, rather.”  Mark looked at his hand as though noticing its condition for the first time.  Then he spoke consolingly.  “But it was the only one I had to put on this morning.  Pleasant outside, isn’t it?”

But the clerk had suddenly discovered that his attention was needed elsewhere, and Mark proceeded to his breakfast.

Sitting down, he gave his order, then opened the letter.  It was from Ruth.  “I am sorry you were not feeling well yesterday, and hope you are all right now.  If so, come to Killimaga to-day, quite early.  Somehow I am always lonesome now.  Ruth.”

It was rather strange—­or was it?—­that, in spite of what Mark knew, he watched his chance and, when the waiter turned his back, kissed the sheet of scented paper.

Saunders was in the hotel office when Mark came out of the dining room.  The constable was with him.  With little difficulty Saunders got rid of the officer and walked over to Mark.

“Come outside,” he said.  “I have some news.”

They left the hotel and moved down the street.  When out of anyone’s hearing, Saunders touched Mark’s arm.

“I routed out the constable early this morning—­at daybreak, in fact—­and sent him on a wild-goose chase along the bluff road.  I wanted him to stumble onto that body, and get things going quickly.  The sooner the cards are on the table, the better.  His errand would keep him close to the Killamaga wall, on the roadside.  He saw nothing; if he had I should have known it.  What do you think it means?”

“Means?” echoed Mark.  “Why, it means that someone else has been there.”