CHAPTER XVIII.
A Dark Horse "Le plus grand art d'un habile homme est celui de savoir cacher son habilete." Later in the day I was ignominiously recalled to London.
"Useless to remain in Southampton.

First note has been changed in London," Sander telegraphed to me.
While lunching at the hotel, I learnt from the waiter that the young French lady had received letters causing her to change her plans, and that she had left hurriedly for Dover, the waiter thought.
Sander came to see me the same evening at my club in London.
"There are at least two in it--probably three," he said.

"The note was changed at Cook's office, in the purchase of two tourist tickets to Baden-Baden, which can, of course, be resold or used in part only.

It was done by an old man--wore a wig, they tell me--but he was genuine; not a young man in disguise, I mean." If Mr.Sander knew more he did not take me further into his confidence.

He was a pale-faced, slight man, having the outward appearance of a city clerk.