But not the least extraordinary part of the business was that not the slightest clue could be obtained as to who the lady was, the linen of herself and her maid having only initials marked on it.  The police did their best by advertising and inquiry, but all they could find out was that they had come straight to X. from Liverpool, where they had arrived from America.  There they were traced to Fifth Avenue Hotel, in New York, where they had been only known by the number of their room, and to which they had come from no one knew whither.  Enough money was found in the lady’s box to pay the expenses of their funerals.  An open verdict was returned at the inquests which were held.  The police took possession of their belongings and had them, no doubt, at the present moment.

At this point the train stopped, the lady wished us “Good-morning” and left the carriage; and we, as we steamed south, were left to meditate on this strange but perfectly true story and to solve as we best could the still unanswered question of “Who was the third maid?”

A MODERN WITCH.

I.

Never shall I forget my first meeting with Irene Latouche.  After travelling all day, I had arrived at my friend Maitland’s house to find that dinner had been over for at least an hour.  Having taken the precaution of dining during the journey this did not affect me very materially; but my kindly host, who met me in the hall, took it very much to heart.

“We quite gave you up, my dear fellow, we did indeed,” he reiterated, grasping my hand with additional fervour each time he made the assertion.  “My wife will be so vexed at your missing dinner.  You are sure you won’t have a bit now?  Such a haunch of venison, hung to a turn!  One of old Ward’s.  You know he has taken Glen Bogie this season, and is having rare sport, I am told.  Ah, well, if you really won’t take anything, we had better join the ladies in the drawing-room.”

“But the luggage hasn’t come from the station yet,” I interposed, “and my dress clothes are in my portmanteau—­”

“Nonsense about dress clothes!  It will be bed-time soon.  You don’t suppose anybody cares what you have on, do you?”

With this comforting assurance, Maitland pushed open the drawing-room door, and a flood of light streamed out into the hall.  Dazzled by the sudden glare I stepped back, but not before I had caught sight of a most striking figure at the further end of the long room.

“Who on earth is that girl?” I whispered.

“Which?  Oh, the one playing the harp, you mean?  I might have known that!  A rare beauty, isn’t she?  I thought you would find her out pretty soon!”