“Ah!  I see you have,” pursues Philander, dryly.

“I confess it; she was a pretty actress, but my boyish passion for her died out when I discovered her perfidy.”

“Very true; but she has never forgiven you.  What harm did you do her, boy?”

“The harm was on her side.  When I found what deception she had put upon me I simply denounced her in the presence of several who were at supper with her, a new admirer among them.  Perhaps she hates me for that, but it seems queer that Pauline Potter, whom I knew in Chicago, should bob up in Malta.  Almost like a modern play.”

“Well, she’s here.  I’ve seen her.”

“Professor, pardon me for saying it, but you’ve allowed yourself to be maligned.  I believed you were a nonentity, but I find you possessed of a remarkable mind.  You are a second Richelieu.”

“You flatter me.  John, grant my favor; allow me to accompany you on this errand.  I will then have a chance to explain how I managed to learn all these things.”

“I see no reason to refuse.”

“Good!  Come, let’s move off,” with a quick glance over his shoulder.

“Oh,” laughs the student, “she’s up stairs yet,” and his words are corroborated, for a burst of almost masculine laughter comes floating down from the next floor, causing Philander to shrug his shoulders.

“She’ll imagine I’m off seeing the sights.  I went to see the modern Mabille in Paris and have never heard the last of it.  Stand by me in case of war, my boy.”

“That I will, professor.”

They have left the hotel, and John’s face tells of the puzzle which he is trying to solve—­the strange connection between Pauline Potter, the actress who won his boyish admiration only to deceive him, and she whom he seeks with reverent love in his heart, his mother, the Sister Magdalen of Lady Ruth’s Paris adventure.

And the professor guesses the truth.

“I may be able to assist you, John, though you shall be the judge.  Will you listen to my yarn?”

“With pleasure.”

They walk on, arm in arm; the doctor has lighted a cigar, and seems to take much comfort in the mechanical puffs of smoke which he sends out into the darkness—­not that there is anything of the inky pall about this, throwing a silvery path way along the mysterious waters of the romantic sea, and besides, the lanterns that flash on trees and from house fronts serve to render the scene far from gloomy, though a modern city dweller, used to electric lights, might notice the change.

“Before we enter into a discussion, my dear boy, let me explain how I came to know these facts connected with the presence of Pauline Potter in Valetta, and the duplicity of the man representing the head of the police, Signor Stucco.

“After returning from our eventful walk to the hill-top back of the town, I had business in another section, business connected with my trip along the Mediterranean, and which has been kept a secret from my spouse.