Pf! it was enough. One week later the autograph arrived--attached to an
invitation to dine with the Grand Duke at his hotel in Paris. Yes--he
had come to Paris. I have said that he was susceptible and I have said
that she was beautiful. I address myself to men of the world, and I
shall not be in error if I assume that they will say, "A wealthy fool
and a designing woman. It is an old story." Let us see.
The confidences of Casimir interested me in more ways than one. In the
first place I had particular reasons for suspecting anyone who sought
to obtain access to the Grand Duke. These were diplomatic. And in the
second place I had suspicions of Zara el-Khala. These were personal.
Yes--so she called herself--Zara el-Khala, which in Arabic is
"Flower of the Desert." She professed to be an Egyptian, and certainly
she had the long, almond-shaped eyes of the East, but her white skin
betrayed her, and I knew that whilst she might possess Eastern blood,
she was more nearly allied to Europe than to Africa. It is my business
to note unusual matters, you understand, and I noticed that this
beautiful and accomplished woman of whom all Paris was beginning to
speak rapturously remained for many weeks at a small Montmartre
theatre. Her performance, which was unusually decorous for the type
of establishment at which she appeared, had not apparently led to an
engagement elsewhere.
This aroused the suspicions to which I have referred. In the character
of a vaudeville agent I called at the Montmartre theatre and was
informed by the management that Zara-el-Khala received no visitors,
professional or otherwise.
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