Despite his vast wealth and the manner in which he was courted and flattered by society, Mr. Isaac Isidore had contrived to remain single. He had only one passion, and that was the making of money by ingenious schemes; in fact, had he not been a capitalist he would have made a wonderfully good novelist, as Lawrence often said. Mystery and intrigue were the very air he breathed, and for recreation he asked for nothing better than a romance by Gaboriau or Du Boisgobey.

He was breakfasting rather later, but quite modestly, in his chambers when Lawrence called on him the next morning. There were a good many points in common between the two men despite their different dispositions.

"Funny thing over those notes last night," said the man of money. "I suppose that is what you came to talk to me about."

"What a luminous mind yours is," Lawrence replied. "That\'s just why I did come. As you know, I am deeply interested in clearing up the Corner House mystery. I\'ve got nearer to it than anybody imagines. Do you happen to have any idea who came with those particular notes last night?"

"Not the ghost of one," Isidore admitted. "I can read men and minds, but motives are sometimes beyond an amateur like me. Do you know?"

"Yes," said Lawrence, "I do."

"Which means that you are not going to tell me?"

"Not for the present, my boy. Without boasting, I do know, but I could not prove it yet; at least, not to the legal mind. Have you got those notes?"

Isidore intimated that they were in his safe. He took out the whole roll, and asked Lawrence to sort out the particular ones for himself.

"I only want one," Lawrence explained, "and this one will do admirably. I am going to take it away, if you don\'t mind. You will be able to recognise it by this queer yellow stain. Why didn\'t you decline to take them last night?"

"Why should I?" Isidore asked coolly. "They came to me through a third party for value received, so that they are quite good. When these notes are presented the bank is bound to cash them. I\'d give sixpence to know what is behind that queer, clever, ingenious brain of yours."

Lawrence laughed and departed with the assurance that Isidore should know soon enough. He spent the rest of the morning at the club, and after luncheon took his way gaily in the direction of Lytton Avenue.

The Countess was at home, and glad to see her visitor. The back drawing-room was cool and secluded and opened on to the garden. Leona Lalage lounged back in a deep chair and indicated the cigarettes on a table.

"I have told Saunders not to admit any more visitors," she said. "Positively I shall break down if I don\'t get a rest soon. Does Mamie make too much noise for you! If so, call to Miss Lawrence."

Mamie and Hetty were playing together in the garden. The child was shouting merrily. Fond of children, Lawrence disclaimed any feeling of annoyance.

"Children and dogs never bore me," he said. "I wish I had a garden like yours. Pleasant perfumes always stimulate the imagination. Did you ever notice how the smell of certain flowers recalls vivid recollections?"

A sudden pallor came over the listener\'s face, it was gone in an instant, and a deep carmine flush succeeded it.

"Sometimes horrible recollections," she said in a low voice. "A certain flower you love gets mixed up with a tragedy, and you never care for it afterwards."

"Of course, I\'ve noticed that," said Lawrence thoughtfully. "For instance, I once was exceedingly fond of the smell of tuberose, but----"

A little ornament fell from the table by Countess Lalage\'s side and a cry escaped her. Lawrenc............