"Cocher? l'Hôtel Saint Ange, Rue Saint Ange!" The voice of John Dampier, Nancy's three-weeks bridegroom, rang out strongly, joyously, on this the last evening of their honeymoon. And before the lightly hung open carriage had time to move, Dampier added something quickly, at which both he and the driver laughed in unison. Nancy crept nearer to her husband. It was tiresome that she knew so little French. "I'm telling the man we're not in any hurry, and that he can take us round by the Boulevards.

Nancy Dampier sat up in bed. Through the curtain covering the square aperture in the wall which did duty for a window the strong morning light streamed in, casting a pink glow over the peculiar little room. She drew the pearl-circled watch, which had been one of Jack's first gifts to her, from under the big, square pillow. It was already half-past nine. How very tiresome and strange that she should have overslept herself on this, her first morning in Paris! And yet—and yet not so very strange af

That the cabman was evidently familiar with the odd address, "Impasse des Nonnes," brought a measure of relief to Senator Burton's mind, and as he turned and gazed into the candid eyes of the girl sitting by his side he was ashamed of his vague suspicions. The little carriage bowled swiftly across the great square behind which wound the Rue Saint Ange, up one of the steep, picturesque streets which lead from thence to the Luxembourg Gardens. When they had gone some considerable way round the gay

The afternoon wore itself away, and to two out of the four people who spent it together in the pleasant salon of the Burtons' suite of rooms the hours, nay the very minutes, dragged as they had never dragged before. Looking back to that first day of distress and bewilderment, Nancy later sometimes asked herself what would have happened, what she would have done, had she lacked the protection, the kindness—and what with Daisy Burton almost at once became the warm affection—of this American family

Nancy Dampier sat up in bed. Long rays of bright sunlight filtering in between deep blue curtains showed her a large, lofty room, with panelled walls, and furniture covered with blue damask silk. It was more like an elegant boudoir in an old English country house than a bedroom, and for a moment she wondered, bewildered, where she could be. Then suddenly she remembered—remembered everything; and her heart filled, brimmed over, with seething pain and a sharp, overwhelming sensation of fear. Jack

The janitor of the Morgue, remembering Gerald Burton's five-franc piece, and perchance looking forward to another rond, was wreathed in smiles. Eagerly he welcomed the two strangers into the passage, and carefully he closed the great doors behind them. "A little minute," he said, smiling happily. "Only one little minute! The trifling formality of showing your permit to the gentleman in the office must be gone through, and then I myself will show monsieur and madame everything there is to be seen

The American abroad has a touching faith, first, in the might and power of his country to redress all wrongs, and secondly, in the personal prestige of his Ambassador. As a rule this faith is justified by works, but in the special and very peculiar case of John Dampier, Senator Burton was destined to meet with disappointment. With keen vexation he learnt that the distinguished and genial individual who just then represented the great sister Republic in Paris, and on whom he himself had absolutel

The third morning brought no news of the missing man, and Senator Burton, noting Gerald's and Daisy's preoccupied, anxious faces, began to wonder if his life would ever flow in pleasant, normal channels again. The son and daughter whom he held so dear, whose habitual companionship was so agreeable to him, were now wholly absorbed in Mrs. Dampier and her affairs. They could think of nothing else, and, when they were alone with their father, they talked of nothing else. The Senator remembered with

In all French public offices there is a strange mingling of the sordid and of the magnificent. The Paris Prefecture of Police is a huge, quadrangular building, containing an infinity of bare, and to tell the truth, shabby, airless rooms; yet when Senator Burton had handed in his card and the note from the President of the French Senate, he was taken rapidly down a long corridor, and ushered into a splendid apartment, of which the walls were hung with red velvet, and which might have been a recep

As he walked away from the Prefecture of Police, Senator Burton told himself that the French were certainly a curiously casual people. How strange that the Prefect should have asked him to break the news of what was to happen at eleven o'clock the next morning to the Poulains! In America—and he supposed in England also—the hotel-keeper would have received a formal notification of the fact that his house was about to be searched, or, in the case that foul play was suspected, no warning at all. Bu

"I suppose we ought to start in about half an hour," said the Senator genially. They were sitting, he and Gerald, at breakfast. Madame Poulain, with the adaptability of her kind—the adaptability which makes the French innkeeper the best in the world, always served a real "American breakfast" in the Burtons' salon. As his son made no answer to his remark, he went on, "I should like to be at the station a few minutes before the Hamworths' train is due." Senator Burton was sorry, very, very sorry i

But it is far easier to form such a resolution and to make such a promise as that which Gerald Burton had made to Nancy Dampier than it is to carry it out. The officials of the Prefecture of Police grew well accustomed to the sight of the tall, good-looking young American coming and going in their midst, and they all showed a sympathetic interest in his quest. But though the police officials were lavish in kindly words, and in permits and passes which he found an open sesame to the various place

With Mr. Stephens' morning coffee there appeared an envelope bearing his name and a French stamp, as well of course as the address of the obscure little hotel where the Burtons had found him a room. The lawyer looked down at the envelope with great surprise. The address was written in a round, copybook hand, and it was clear his name must have been copied out of an English law list. Who in Paris could be writing to him—who, for the matter of that, knew where he was staying, apart from his own fa

It is two years to a day since John Dampier disappeared, and it is only owing to one man's inflexible determination that the search for him has not been abandoned long ago. And now we meet Senator Burton far in body, if not in mind, from the place where we last met him. He is standing by an open window, gazing down on one of the fairest sights civilised nature has to offer—that of an old English garden filled with fragrant flowers which form scented boundaries of soft brilliant colour to wide la

THE LODGER net, $1.25 THE END OF HER HONEYMOON net, $1.25 STUDIES IN LOVE AND TERROR net, $1.30 MARY PECHELL net, $1.30 THE CHINK IN THE ARMOUR net, $1.30 JANE OGLANDER net, $1.30...