The problem which faced Paul, when he had finished a very late breakfast, was how he should see her soon--the lady in black.

He could not go and call like an ordinary visitor, because he did not know her name! That was wonderful--did not even know her name, or anything about her, only that his whole being was thrilling with anxiety to see her again.

The simplest thing to do seemed to descend into the hall and look at the Visitors' List, which he promptly did.

There were only a few people in the hotel; it was not hard, therefore, guessing at the numbers of the rooms, to arrive at the conviction that "Mme. Zalenska and suite" might be what he was searching for. Zalenska--she was possibly Russian after all. And what was her christian name? That he longed to know.

As he stood staring, his fair forehead puckered into a frown of thought, the silver-haired servant came up behind him and said, with his respectful, dignified bearing: "De la part de Madame," handing Paul a letter the while.

What could it contain?

But this was not the moment for speculation--he would read and see.

He turned his back on the servant, and walked towards the light, while he tore open the envelope. It had the most minute sphinx in the corner, and the paper was un-English, and rather thin.

This was what he read: "Morning.