“Yes; I boarded the train there.  Some business called me to Mons last week.  And you, I presume, like most tourists, are visiting a dozen cities in half as many days,” said the duke, in his execrable English.  They paused at the side of the Italian’s conveyance, and Quentin mentally resolved that the dim light, as it played upon the face of the speaker, was showing to him the most repellent countenance he had ever looked upon.

“Oh. no,” he answered, quickly, “I shall probably remain until after the marriage of my friend, Miss Garrison, and Prince Ugo.  Are you to be here long?”

“I cannot say,” answered the other, his black eyes fastened on Quentin’s, “My business here is of an uncertain nature.”

“Diplomatic, I infer?”

“It would not be diplomatic for me to say so.  I suspect I shall see you again, Mr. Quentin.”

“Doubtless; I am to be at the Bellevue.”

“And I, also.  We may see some of the town together.”

“You are very kind,” said Quentin, bowing deeply.  “Do you travel alone?”

“The duchess is ill and is in Florence.  I am so lonely without her.”

“It’s beastly luck for business to carry one away from a sick wife.  By the way, how is my dear friend, Prince Ugo?”

“Exceptionally well, thank you.  He will be pleased to know you are here, for he is coming to Brussels next week.  I think, if you will pardon me, he has taken quite a fancy to you.”

“I trust, after longer acquaintance, he may not find me a disappointment,” said Phil warmly, and a faint look of curiosity flashed into the duke’s eyes.  As they were saying good-night, Quentin looked about for the man who might be Courant, the detective.  But the duke’s companion was not to be seen.

The next morning Quentin proceeded in a very systematic and effective way to locate the home of the Garrisons.  He was aware, in the beginning, that they lived in a huge, beautiful mansion somewhere in the Avenue Louise.  He knew from his Baedeker that the upper town was the fashionable quarter, and that the Avenue Louise was one of the principal streets.  An electric tramcar took him speedily through the Boulevards Regent and Waterloo to the Avenue Louise.  A strange diffidence had prevented him from asking at the hotel for directions that would easily have discovered her home.  Somehow he wanted to stroll along the avenue in the early morning and locate the home of Dorothy Garrison without other aid than the power which tells one when he is near the object of his adoration.  He left the car at the head of the avenue and walked slowly along the street.