"You heard no other mention of the person named Royle?" I asked her after a brief pause, during which I placed a second half-sovereign in her hand.

She reflected for a moment, her eyes cast down upon the carpet, as we stood together in that sombre little room of horrors.

"Well, yes," she replied thoughtfully. "One afternoon when I was taking tea into the drawing-room where they were sitting together I heard mistress say, 'I don't like that man Royle at all. He means mischief--more especially as he loves the girl.' The gentleman only laughed and said, 'Have no fear on that score. He knows nothing, and is not likely to know, unless you tell him.' Then mistress said, 'I've been a fool, perhaps, but when we met I told him one or two things--sufficient to cause him to think.' Then the gentleman stood up angrily and cried out in quite a loud voice: 'What! you fool! You've actually told him--you've allowed your infernal tongue to wag and let out the truth!' But she said that she had not told all the truth, and started abusing him--so much so that he left the room and went out into the garden, where, a few minutes later, I saw him talking excitedly to Ali. But when the two men talked I could, of course, understand nothing," added the girl.

"Then your mistress declared that she didn't like the man Royle, eh?"

"Yes; she seemed to fear him--fear that he knew too much about some business or other," replied the maid. "And to tell you quite frankly, sir, after watching the mistress and her visitor very narrowly for a couple of days I came to the conclusion that the gentleman was hiding--that perhaps the police were after him."

"Why?" I inquired in a casual tone. "What made you think that?"

"I hardly know. Perhaps from the sc.r.a.ps of conversation I overheard, perhaps from his cunning, secret manner--not but what he was always nice to me, and gave me something when he left."

"You didn't hear any other names of persons mentioned?" I asked. "Try and think, as all that you tell me is of the greatest importance to me."

The girl stood silent, while I paced up and down that room in which, not many hours before, I had endured that awful mental torture. She drew her hand across her brow, trying to recall.

"Yes, there was another name," she admitted at last, "but I can't at the moment recall it."

"Ah, do!" I implored her. "Try and recall it. I am in no hurry to leave."

Again the dark-eyed maid in the dainty ap.r.o.n was silent--both hands upon her brow, as she had turned from me and was striving to remember.

"It was some foreign name--a woman's name," she said.

I recollected the dead girl was believed to have been a foreigner!

Suddenly she cried--

"Ah, I remember! The name was Mary Brack."

"Mary Brack!" I repeated.

"Yes. Of course I don't know how it's spelt."

"Well, if it were a foreign name it would probably be Marie B-r-a-c-q--if you are sure you've p.r.o.nounced it right."

"Oh, yes. I'm quite sure. Mistress called her 'poor girl!' so I can only suppose that something must have happened to her."

I held my breath at her words.

Yes, without a doubt I had secured a clue to the ident.i.ty of the girl who lost her life at Harrington Gardens.

Her name, in all probability, was Marie Bracq!

CHAPTER XXII.

"MARIE BRACQ!"

Marie Bracq! The name rang in my ears in the express all the way from Colchester to Liverpool Street.

Just before six o'clock I alighted from a taxi in Scotland Yard, and, ascending in the lift, soon found myself sitting with Inspector Edwards.

At that moment I deemed it judicious to tell him nothing regarding my night adventure in the country, except to say:

"Well, I've had a strange experience--the strangest any man could have, because I have dared to investigate on my own account the mystery of Harrington Gardens."

"Oh! tell me about it, Mr. Royle," he urged, leaning back in his chair before the littered writing-table.

"There's nothing much to tell," was my reply. "I'll describe it all some day. At present there's no time to waste. I believe I am correct in saying that the name of the murdered girl is Marie Bracq."

Edwards looked me straight in the face. "That's not an English name, is it?" he said.

"No, Belgian, I should say."

"Belgian? Yes, most probably," he said. "A rather uncommon name, and one which ought not to be difficult to trace. How did you find this out?"

"Oh, it's a long story, Mr. Edwards," I said. "But I honestly believe that at last we are on the scent. Cannot you discover whether any girl of that name is missing?"

"Of course. I'll wire to the Brussels police at once. Perhaps it will be well to ask the Prefect of Police in Paris if they have any person of that name reported missing," he said, and, ringing a bell, a clerk appeared almost instantly with a writing-pad and pencil.

"Wire to Brussels and Paris and ask if they have any person named Marie Bracq--be careful of the spelling--missing. If so, we will send them over a photo."

"Yes, sir," the man replied, and disappeared.

"Well," I asked casually, when we were alone, "have you traced the tailor who made the dead girl's costume?"

"Not yet. The Italian police are making every inquiry."

"And what have you decided regarding that letter offering to give information?"

"Nothing," was his prompt reply. "And if this information you have obtained as to the ident.i.ty of the deceased proves correct, we shall do nothing. It will be far more satisfactory to work out the problem for ourselves, rather than risk being misled by somebody who has an axe to grind."

"Ah! I'm pleased that you view the matter in that light," I said, much relieved. "I feel confident that I have gained the true name of the victim."

"But how did you manage it, Mr. Royle?" he asked, much interested.

I, however, refused to satisfy his curiosity.

"You certainly seem to know more about the affair than we do," he remarked with a smile.

"Well, was I not a friend of the man who is now a fugitive?" I remarked.

"Ah, of course! And depend upon it, Mr. Royle, when this affair is cleared up, we shall find that your friend was a man of very curious character," he said, pursing his lips. "Inquiries have shown that many mysteries concerning him remain to be explained."