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He revolved the problem round and round in his mind, an endless circle of speculation and wonder. Then, unexpectedly, he saw an old friend, and instantly all thoughts of Valerie vanished from his mind. He crossed a grass plot, quickening his pace, and came up by the side of the elegant lady who was walking slowly, holding a small dog on a lead. She had the appearance of somebody from one of the residences of the fashionable quarter which runs parallel with the park.

"I thought I wasn't mistaken," said Jim genially. "How are you, Fay?"

The lady looked at him blankly, raising her delicately penciled eyebrows.

"I'm afraid I haven't the advantage of your acquaintance," she said coldly, and looked round as if for a policeman, which amused Jim Featherstone to such an extent that for a second he was helpless with internal laughter.

"Fay, Fay!" he said reprovingly. "Come down from your pedestal and be mortal. How are all the good souls of your exclusive set? Jerry is in prison still, I understand, and the rest of the crowd are still hiding in Paris."