And then Sylvia suddenly bethought herself that there was one thing she could do which she had not done:  she could surely go to the police of Lacville and ask them to make inquiries in Paris as to whether there had been an accident of which the victim in any way recalled Anna Wolsky.

To her surprise, M. Polperro shook his head very decidedly.

“Oh no, do not go to the police!” he said in an anxious tone.  “No, no, I do not advise you to do that!  Heaven knows I would do anything in reason to help you, Madame, to find your friend.  But I beg of you not to ask me to go for you to the police!”

Sylvia was very much puzzled.  Why should M. Polperro be so unwilling to seek the help of the law in so simple a matter as this?

“I will go myself,” she said.

And just then—­they were standing in the hall together—­the Comte de Virieu came up.

“What is it you will do yourself, Madame?” he asked, smiling.

Sylvia turned to him eagerly.

“I feel that I should like to speak to the police about Anna Wolsky,” she exclaimed.  “It is the first thing one would do in England if a friend suddenly disappeared—­in fact, the police are always looking for people who have gone away in a mysterious manner.  You see, I can’t help being afraid, Count Paul”—­she lowered her voice—­“that Anna has met with some dreadful accident.  She hasn’t a friend in Paris!  Suppose she is lying now in some hospital, unable to make herself understood?  I only wish that I had a photograph of Anna that I could take to them.”

“Well, there is a possibility that this may be so.  But remember it is even more probable that Madame Wolsky is quite well, and that she will be annoyed at your taking any such step to find her.”

“Yes,” said Sylvia, slowly.  “I know that is quite possible.  And yet—­and yet it is so very unlike Anna not to send me a word of explanation!  And then, you know in that letter she left in her room at the Pension Malfait she positively promised to send a telegram about her luggage.  Surely it is very strange that she has not done that?”

“Well, if you really wish the police communicated with,” said the Comte de Virieu, “I will go to the police-station here, with pleasure.”

“Why should we not go together?” asked Sylvia, hesitatingly.

“By all means.  But think over what we are to say when we get there.  If your friend had not left the letter behind her, then, of course it would be our positive duty to communicate with the police.  But I cannot help being afraid—­” He stopped abruptly.

“Of what are you afraid?” asked Sylvia eagerly.

“I am afraid that Madame Wolsky may be very much offended by your interference in the matter.”

“Oh, no!” cried Sylvia.  “Indeed, in that you are quite mistaken!  I know Anna would never be offended by anything I could do.  She was very fond of me, and so am I of her.  But in any case I am willing to risk it.  You see”—­her voice broke, quivered—­“I am really very unhappy about Anna—­”