“I am possessed of no facts that lead me to indulge a contrary opinion.  Suppose you state the case?”

Briefly Mr. Hargrove narrated the circumstances attending his last interview with Regina’s mother, and the loss of the tin box, dwelling in conclusion upon the perplexing fact that in the recent letter received from her relative to her daughter’s removal to the parsonage, Mrs. Orme had implored him to carefully preserve the license he had retained as the marriage certificate in her possession might not be considered convincing proof, should litigation ensue.  He could not understand the policy of this appeal, nor reconcile its necessity with his conviction that she had stolen the license.

Joining his scholarly white hands with the tips of his fingers forming a cone, Mr. Palma leaned back in his chair and listened, while no hint of surprise or incredulity found expression in his cold, imperturbable face.  When the recital was ended, he merely inclined his head.

“Do you not regard this as strong evidence against her?  Be frank, Mr. Palma.”

“It is merely circumstantial.  Write to Mr. Orme, inform her of the loss of the license, and I think you will find that she is as innocent of the theft as you or I. I know she went to Europe believing that the final proof of her marriage was in your keeping; for in the event of her death, while abroad, she has empowered me to demand that paper from you, and to present it with certain others in a court of justice.”

“I wish I could see it as you do.  I hope it will some day be satisfactorily cleared up, but meanwhile I must indulge a doubt.  On one point at least my mind is at rest; this little girl is unquestionably the child of the man who married her mother, for I have never seen so remarkable a likeness as she bears to him.”

He sighed heavily, and patted the shaggy head which Bioern had some time before laid unheeded on his knee.

During the brief silence that ensued the lawyer gazed out of the window, through which floated the spicy messages of carnations, and the fainter whispers of pale cream-hearted Noisette roses; then he rose and put both hands in his pockets.

“Dr. Hargrove, you and I have been—­with, I believe, equal reluctance—­forced into the same boat, and since bongre malgre we must voyage for a time together, in the interest of this unfortunate child, candour becomes us both.  Men of my profession sometimes resort to agencies that the members of yours usually shrink from.  I too was once very sceptical concerning the truth of Mrs. Orme’s fragmentary story, for it was the merest disjecta membra which she entrusted to me, and my credulity declined to honour her heavy drafts.  To satisfy myself, I employed a shrewd female detective to ‘shadow’ the pretty actress for nearly a year, and her reports convinced me that my client, whilst struggling with Napoleonic ambition and pertinacity to attain the zenith of success in her profession,