LITMIR.BIZ

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fell on her knees by the dying man's side and buried her face in her hands. Escott gave her a glance of despair. Then he looked at me, and then a sudden change came over his face. His lips made an effort to speak, but no words were audible. His breath came in hurried gasps and then stopped. He was dead.

      "You have killed him!" I said, turning to the girl and speaking in hot anger. "Why did you force yourself into the room? You do not know what you have done."

      "I know perfectly well," she replied. She had risen to her feet. Her face was as white as the white face of my dead friend. "I meant to be with him at the very end," she said. "I had the right."

      I stared at her in consternation.

      "He was telling you something important when I entered the room," she continued. "It was a secret. Now listen. That secret was meant for me. I know what it was about, for I caught the words 'General Romville.' Will you tell it to me now, for it is my right to know."

      Her words were interrupted by the nurse, who entered the room.

      "Mr. Escott is dead," I said, turning to the woman. "The entrance of this young lady was the final shock—you had no right to admit her."

      "I told Mademoiselle what the consequences would be," said the nurse. "She went to the sitting-room first. What were you doing, mademoiselle? How did you come by the key of my master's cabinet? I found it on the floor."

      "Give it to me," I said eagerly.

      The nurse handed it to me without a word. As she did so Mademoiselle regarded her with grave, wide-open eyes. There was a half-despairing, half-vindictive expression on her face. Notwithstanding the fact that I had just lost my dearest friend, it was the sort of look to haunt a man, to fill him with uneasiness.

      I left the room where Escott lay dead and went straight to his sitting-room. The first thing I did was to walk to the cabinet and open it. I meant to take out the letter which he had told me I should find there, the letter addressed to M. Laroque. Search as I would, I could not see it anywhere. I opened drawer after drawer. Had the strange girl, whose name I did not even know, taken it?

      This thought had scarcely come to me before the door was opened and she came in.

      "Mr. Phenays," she said, "I have come to ask your pardon. Please forgive me if I spoke with intemperance. The fact is, I was very much upset at seeing you in the room with Maurice Escott. I wanted to be alone with him during his last moments. I had my reason."

      "Whatever that reason was, mademoiselle," I replied, "I still very deeply regret your having burst into the room in the intemperate way you did; but, however much we may deplore it, we cannot call the dead back to life. Now, I have a question to ask you. The nurse said she found the key of this cabinet on the floor; she further said that you had been in the room. Did you open the cabinet and take from thence a letter? If you did, please return it to me immediately. It was entrusted to me by my friend, and was addressed to a man he had business connections with."

      "I took no letter," she answered haughtily. "What do you take me for?"

      "You are a stranger to me," I answered. "Your actions since you came into this house have astonished me; forgive me if I am over-suspicious."

      "You had better know at once who I am," she replied. "My name is Francesca Delacourt. My father, who is dead, was a Frenchman, but my mother was English. I have known Mr. Escott for a long time. I can scarcely realise that he is dead. Whatever secret he told you was meant for me. May I share the confidence which he gave you on his deathbed?"

      "I have nothing whatever to tell you," I answered. "I should be glad if you would leave me now, for I am upset and shocked."

      "I will certainly go," she replied. "As to your being shocked, if you know what I think you know, you have reason for your emotion."

      She turned, walked to the door, went out, and closed it behind her.

      I was alone, and I tried to collect my troubled thoughts. Escott had died without having told me his secret. The letter which he had written to M. Laroque could not be found. Mademoiselle Delacourt seemed to be mixed up in the affair. I distrusted her. I felt certain, that, although she denied it, she had really stolen the letter which was addressed to M. Laroque. What that letter contained, God only knew. It was terrible to feel that my poor friend's most dangerous secret might have got into wrong hands. An agent of the British Secret Service is a man scarcely to be envied; he becomes acquainted with matters which touch big interests, often affecting the welfare of nations. Escott declared that his was a most dangerous secret; he was about to tell it to me, when death, caused by Mademoiselle Delacourt's abrupt entrance, prevented him.

      I was musing on these thoughts when the doctor arrived. He was an Englishman, with a clever face, of about forty years of age. I told him that his patient was dead.

      "I expected it," was his answer. "Did you arrive in time, Mr. Phenays?"

      "Yes and no," was my answer. "He sent me a wire, as, perhaps, you know; he had something to confide in me, but died before his confidence was complete."

      "Indeed! How sad! Where are you staying?"

      "I was going to the Continental. I must return to London immediately after the funeral."

      "Pray make my house your home, Mr. Phenays. I have apartments in the Rue St. Honoré. Bring your things, for we shall be quite quiet."

      After a moment's thought I decided to accept this invitation. I went, therefore, that afternoon to Thesiger's rooms, and in the evening the doctor and I dined together. During the meal I asked him a few questions with regard to my dead friend.

      "Did you know Escott well? Did you see much of him?" was my first query.

      "A good deal," replied Dr. Thesiger. "He was always rather a reserved sort of fellow, but he often came over here to smoke and have a chat. During the last few weeks he seemed to be seriously troubled and to have something weighing on his mind."

      "Indeed!"

      "Yes, and I think that something lessened his chance of recovery. When I told him yesterday that his illness was likely to take a serious turn, he immediately asked me to wire for you. I am sorry you were not in time to receive his confidence."

      "Alas! I was not."

      Thesiger gave me a keen glance; his eyes met mine—I saw a gleam of curiosity in them.

      "There was a great deal of mystery about him, poor fellow," he continued. "He never even told me what his business was. Was he conscious at the end?"

      "Yes," I said slowly.

      "And yet he did not relieve his mind?"

      "He was prevented."

      "How?"

      "A girl forced her way into the room."

      "Mr. Phenays! A girl? What girl?"

      "Mademoiselle Francesca Delacourt."

      "Ah! I know Mademoiselle Delacourt. What do you mean?"

      "She rushed in uninvited. My friend was interrupted in an important confidence; her entrance agitated him. He passed away a moment later."

      Thesiger's face looked grave and stern.

      "Do you know this young lady?" I asked.

      "Yes; I think everyone does. She is a beautiful and clever woman. Her father belonged to one of the best old French families. She goes everywhere; her beauty and position give her the entrée wherever she wills."

      "Do you like her, doctor?"

      "Yes," he replied, but I noted a certain reserve in his tone.

      "You mean 'No,' Dr. Thesiger," I said boldly.

      "You may take my answer then to mean both 'Yes' and 'No,’" was his reply.

      "Please tell me exactly what you know about her."

      "I should advise you, Phenays, to have nothing to do with her. She is said to have the power of arousing

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