Kowlaski was a large, fat, good-natured blackguard of a man, quite without principle. He came from some remote village in the Balkans and was of Jewish birth. In his early days he arrived in London penniless and strove to make a living by selling toys in the street. Then he turned scene-shifter at a music-hall, and while thus engaged educated himself to write and read and to speak English with wonderful fluency. Also he saved money and speculated in a small way, having the marvelous Hebrew instinct of picking out lucrative ventures. Shortly he became stage manager. Then he found a clever woman who sang badly and acted wonderfully. Kowlaski advertised her into a success and she proved grateful. There is no need to trace his steady rise; but one thing led to another until he became proprietor of the very music-hall which had witnessed his humble beginning.

When he first set eyes on Lola he had guessed that it would pay to invest money in her. The success of the ballet proved that Kowlaski was right as usual, and he smiled his oily smile when he saw the crowded houses and looked over the receipts. The ballet would run for more than a year. He was sure of that, and set about some other business now that the music-hall was flourishing. It was at this point that Lola demanded a week's holiday. Kowlaski whimpered. He usually did so to make people think he was weak. But under his apparent weakness he was possessed of an iron strength.

Having great experience of women he thought to control Lola, but she, being gifted with a superlative temper, laughed in his face. All his cleverness could not make her swerve from the point. "I want a week to myself," she said doggedly. They were talking in French, as Kowlaski could swear more easily in that tongue and wanted freedom of speech.

"But, my dear child--" Kowlaski was always paternal--"it will not do. You are the draw, and if you go out of the bill the people will not come to my house."

"I don't care. I want a week, and a week I will have."

"Why do you wish for this week?"

"That's my business."

Kowlaski tried temper. "If you go, you leave my theater once and for all the time."

"Pschutt!" said Lola, snapping her fingers in his dismayed face. "I draw, and you are in no hurry to get rid of me."

Kowlaski tried reproaches. "If you were a grateful woman----"

"Ah, bah! What of gratitude? You wanted me or would you have seen me die in the gutter."

Kowlaski began to whimper. "You will ruin me, my dear!"

"It would serve you right if I did. You have ruined others in your time. Don't you think I know you? Come--" she rapped on the table--"I want the week. To-morrow and till next Wednesday I'm out of the bill."

"But it cannot be done."

"It must be. I want it to be done."

Kowlaski tried bribing. "I will raise your salary if you stay!"

"Oh, la, la, la, la! I am quite pleased with what I get. If I wished my salary raised I should have it raised. I go for a week."

In the face of this obstinacy Kowlaski gave in. But first of all he tried threats, and Lola threatened to throw a chair at him. He finally agreed that she should have her week, and Lola walked out of the office without thanking him. That was the last he saw of her for seven days.

He made the most of her absence, declaring that she had been called away to nurse a dying mother and would reappear with a broken heart to keep her engagements with the public. Bawdsey saw this notice.

It was the first he had heard of Lola's escapade, and he went at once to her rooms in Bloomsbury to ask where she was going. Lola had already gone, and, according to the landlady, had left no information as to her whereabouts.

"Did she take a box?" asked Bawdsey.

"A small box. She went away in a cab."

"Where did she tell the cabman to drive to?"

"To Oxford Street."

Bawdsey was disappointed. He saw that Lola had taken every precaution to hide her trail, and that there was not much chance of finding her. However, he went to see Kowlaski. The manager began to talk of the dying mother, and Bawdsey shut him up.

"Rubbish! That's for the public. I want to know where she is.

"My dear, I do not know," said Kowlaski, and for the first time in his wicked old life he told the truth.

Not to be beaten, Bawdsey sought out George Brendon. But George was as ignorant as the manager and the landlady. "I haven't the slightest idea," he said, when Bawdsey asked; "and, to tell you the truth, I don't see why you should try to find out."

"I want to know."

"That is apparent on the face of it. But you are not engaged to marry her, are you, Mr. Bawdsey?"

"No such luck," replied the detective, with a dismal face.

"Then I don't see what right you have to control her movements."

"Did she write and tell you where she was going?"

"No, and if she had done so I should not tell you," replied George, annoyed by the man's persistence.

"You may as well be civil to me, Mr. Brendon; you know that I am your friend."

"Oh, I've heard all that before! But people who talk much of friendship and gratitude are generally humbugs."

"I am not," said Bawdsey, quietly. "See here, Mr. Brendon, Lola is in love with you----"

"That's my business. Leave it alone."

Bawdsey took up his hat. "Oh, very well! If you will not be civil I cannot help you to learn who killed your father."

"What!" George sprang from the table at which he was writing and seized the man's arm. "Do you know that?"

"Gently, Mr. Brendon. No, I do not know, but----"

"Then what do you mean by saying----"

"We had better have a chat," said Bawdsey, and sat down. "But I wish to know where I stand. Lola loves you. Do you love her?"

"No," said Brendon, seeing that he would have to humor the man. "I am engaged to marry Miss Ward."

"Will you help me to marry Lola?"

"Willingly--though, to tell you the truth, I know very little about you, and to make that girl marry you----"

"Oh, Lola can look after herself, Mr. Brendon. If she becomes my wife she will have the upper hand. But I am so deeply in love with her that I am willing to play second fiddle. Can't you dispossess her of this infatuation for you?"

George shook his head and groaned. "No. She won't listen to reason."

"Well," drawled Bawdsey, recurring to his American accent, "I don't blame her for that. She is in love, and love listens to no one and nothing. I wouldn't listen to reason, either, if it entailed giving up Lola."

"See here, Bawdsey, if you can persuade this woman to get over her liking for me, and to marry you, I shall be delighted. I do not know where she is just now, but it is my impression that she has gone away because she is afraid of me."

"Afraid of you? Oh, that's absurd!"

"No, it isn't. The other morning she saw Miss Ward, and there was a scene in the Park."

Bawdsey hung his red head. "I fear that is my fault," he confessed. "I pointed out Miss Ward to Lola, and----"

"And it was I who foolishly mentioned that Miss Ward sometimes took a walk in the morning--in the Park."

"Oh," said Bawdsey, "I mentioned that also."

"Did you wish Lola to see Miss Ward?" asked George, angrily.

"No. Nor did I intend to say anything about the walking in the early morning. I simply pointed her out in the box to Lola, so that Lola might see there was no chance of your marrying her."

"As if any woman would accept such an excuse," said Brendon, contemptuously. "Then she questioned you about the walk?"

"Yes. She mentioned something about what you had told her, and I was rather free with my tongue. I am not usually," said Bawdsey, penitently, "but there's something about Lola that makes me behave like a child. I'm wax in her hands. So she saw Miss Ward?"

"Yes. And she knows that I am angry. Of course Miss Ward sent to tell me at once, and I called on Lola to give her a talking to, but she was gone when I arrived."

"Would you have spoken harshly to her?"

"Certainly. She had no right to trouble Miss Ward. But now you know why I think she has left town. In a week she will come back thinking my anger is at an end."

"And will it be?" asked Bawdsey, doubtfully.

"It is at an end now. I am quite content not to see Lola again so long as she leaves Miss Ward alone."

"I will try and keep her away," said the detective, "but I have very little influence with her."

"Tell her I am angry and will be still more angry if she does not keep away from Curzon Street. Well, we have discussed this matter. I now want to hear what you meant by your reference to my father. Do you know who killed him?"

Bawdsey shook his head. "I can't say for certain, but I can tell you who might know."

"Who is that?"

"Mr. Roger Ireland."

George looked astonished. "But that is ridiculous," he said. "Mr. Ireland told me that he did not know."

"Oh, I don't say that he knows for certain. But he is better acquainted with the matter than you think."

"How did you come to know Mr. Ireland?"

"He called to see Miss Bull, and I dropped across him."

"How did you get talking of the case?"

"Well, you see," said Bawdsey, easily, "we naturally talked of Mrs. Jersey, and one thing led to another until I discovered that Ireland had been in San Remo when your father was murdered. I wished to find out who killed him, so I questioned Mr. Ireland."

"Why do you wish to know who killed my father?" asked George.

"Because I think that the murder of Mrs. Jersey is connected with that crime. See here--" Bawdsey cleared his throat--"Mrs. Jersey was in San Remo at the time of the death----"

"How do you know that?"

"Don't I tell you I questioned Mr. Ireland?"

George looked sharply at the detective. "What magic did you use to make him talk? Mr. Ireland knows how to hold his tongue."

"Well, when he found that I was looking after the case of Mrs. Jersey (and I made no secret of that) he was good enough to tell me all he knew. He thought, as I did, that the murder in San Remo was connected with the crime of Amelia Square."

"Oh!" George wasn't at all satisfied, as he could not conceive how Bawdsey had induced Ireland to talk. However, he thought it wise to say no more, as he did not wish to make Bawdsey angry and thus run a chance of losing his explanation. "Go on."

"There is nothing more to say," said Bawdsey, rising. "Mr. Ireland declined to tell me who he thought was guilty, but he hinted that he had seen the lady in the blue domino unmasked."

"Did he recognize her?"

"I think he did, but he assured me that he could not be sure, and that he had not seen the lady again."

"Then he did know the face?"

Bawdsey's face assumed an impenetrable expression. "I can only refer you to Mr. Ireland," he said; "and as to Lola----"

"Oh, she'll turn up again," said Brendon, irritably. "Don't worry me about Lola. I wish you would marry her and take her back to your native land."

"What land am I native of, Mr. Brendon?" asked Bawdsey, calmly.

"America, ............