“I hope that you have some news this morning of your uncle, Miss Delora?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“I have not heard—­anything of importance,” she answered.

“I am sorry,” I said.  “I am afraid that you must be getting very anxious.”

She bent over the button of her glove.

“Yes,” she admitted.  “I am very anxious!  I am very anxious indeed.  I scarcely know what to do.”

“Tell me, then,” I said, “why do you not let me go with you to the police and have some inquiries made?  If you prefer it, we could go to a private detective.  I really think that something ought to be done.”

She shook her head.

“I dare not,” she said simply.

“Dare not?” I repeated.

“Because when he returns,” she explained, “he would be so very, very angry with me.  He is a very eccentric man—­my uncle.  He does strange things, and he allows no one to question his actions.”

“But he has no right,” I declared hotly, “to leave you like this in a strange hotel, without even a maid, without a word of farewell or explanation.  The thing is preposterous!”

She had finished buttoning her gloves, and looked up at me with a queer little smile at the corner of her lips and her hands behind her.

“Capitaine Rotherby,” she said, “there are so many things which it seems hard to understand.  I myself am very unhappy and perplexed, but I do know what my uncle would wish me to do.  He would wish me to remain quite quiet, and to wait.”

I was silent for a few moments.  It was difficult to reason with her.

“You have been out this morning,” I said, a little abruptly.

“I have been out,” she admitted.  “I do not think, Capitaine Rotherby, that I must tell you where I have been, but I went to the one place where I thought that I might have news of him.”

“You brought back with you a companion.”

“No, not a companion,” she interposed gently.  “You must not think that, Capitaine Rotherby.  He was just a person who—­who had to come.  You are not cross with me,” she asked, lifting her eyes a little timidly to mine, “that there are some things which I do not tell you?”

“No, I am not cross!” I answered slowly.  “Only, if you felt it possible,” I added, “to give me your entire confidence, it seems to me that it would be better.  I will ask you to believe,” I continued, “that I am not merely a curious person.  I am—­well, more than a little interested.”

She held out both her hands and raised her eyes to mine.  Through the filmy lace of her veil I could see that they were very soft, almost as though tears were gathering there.

“Oh!  I do believe you, Capitaine Rotherby,” she said, “and I would be very, very happy if I could tell you now all the things which trouble me, all the things which I do not understand!  But I may not.  I may not—­just now.”

“Whenever you choose,” I answered, “I shall be ready to hear.  Whenever you need my services, they are yours.”