"She doesn't even mention where they've gone," Amelia exclaimed, in a very bad humour. "The concierge may know," Isabel suggested, looking over my shoulder. We asked at his office. Yes, the gentleman's address was the Rev. Richard Peploe Brabazon, Holme Bush Cottage, Empingham, Northumberland. Any address where letters might be sent at once, in Paris? For the next ten days, or till further notice, Hôtel des Deux Mondes, Avenue de l'Opéra. Amelia's mind was made up at once. "Strike while the iron's hot," she cried. "This sudden illness, coming at the end of their honeymoon, and involving ten days' more stay at an expensive hotel, will probably upset the curate's budget. He'll be glad to sell now. You'll get them for three hundred. It was absurd of Charles to offer so much at first; but offered once, of course we must stick to it." "What do you propose to do?" Charles asked. "Write, or telegraph?" "Oh, how silly men are!" Amelia cried. "Is this the sort of business to be arranged by letter, still less by telegram? No. Seymour must start off at once, taking the night train to Paris; and the moment he gets there, he must interview the curate or Mrs. Brabazon. Mrs. Brabazon's the best. She has none of this stupid, sentimental nonsense about Uncle Aubrey." It is no part of a secretary's duties to act as a diamond broker. But when Amelia puts her foot down, she puts her foot down--a fact which she is unnecessarily fond of emphasising in that identical proposition. So the self-same evening saw me safe in the train on my way to Paris; and next morning I turned out of my comfortable sleeping-car at the Gare de Strasbourg. My orders were to bring back those diamonds, alive or dead, so to speak, in my pocket to Lucerne; and to offer any needful sum, up to two thousand five hundred pounds, for their immediate purchase. When I arrived at the Deux Mondes I found the poor little curate and his wife both greatly agitated. They had sat up all night, they said, with their invalid sister; and the sleeplessness and suspense had certainly told upon them after their long railway journey. They were pale and tired, Mrs. Brabazon, in particular, looking ill and worried--too much like White Heather. I was more than half ashamed of bothering them about the diamonds at such a moment, but it