LITMIR.BIZ

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in most men to whom she accords her friendship. It is rumoured that she has considerable political influence, and that her greatest friends belong to the Diplomatic Corps."

      "The Diplomatic Corps!" I replied.

      "Yes."

      I sat silent, but a thrill of mingled pain and fear had run through me. Could Mademoiselle really know Escott's secret? Had she interrupted his confidence on purpose? At that moment a servant entered with a card on a salver. Thesiger glanced at it and then, with a curious smile on his face, handed it to me. It bore the name of Mademoiselle Francesca Delacourt.

      "This is curious," I said.

      "I will go and see what she wants," said the doctor. "If she should have learnt that you are here, Phenays, and asks to see you, what shall I say?"

      "I will see her," I replied.

      Thesiger was absent a minute or two. His face looked grave when he returned.

      "Mademoiselle has managed to trace you here," he said. "With what motive I am unable to say. She wishes to see you immediately. Will you give her an interview? You are, of course, at liberty to refuse."

      "I will see her," I said.

      "If you will take my advice, Phenays, you will be careful."

      "I shall be very careful," I answered.

      Thesiger now led the way to his library. He opened the door for me, and I entered.

      Mademoiselle was standing in the shade of a lamp. She wore full dinner dress, covered with a long opera cloak, lined with rich silk of a rosy hue.

      "Nothing but the utmost necessity, Mr. Phenays, would make me intrude myself on you at a moment like this," she began.

      "Your business?" I interrupted.

      "I will tell you in as few words as possible. You were a great friend of Mr. Escott's, were you not?"

      "His greatest friend, mademoiselle."

      "May I ask if you had any idea as to the nature of his profession?"

      As Mademoiselle uttered these words I watched her face closely. Notwithstanding all her efforts to wear a mask of utter indifference, I noticed on her smooth young features an expression of anxiety, joined to what might almost be called fear.

      "I certainly knew about my friend," I answered. "But, pardon me, what affair is it of yours?"

      "I will soon explain. Please listen. Mr. Escott was a member of the British Secret Service. You know that fact, so do I. Less than an hour before I reached his house I received an urgent message from him to come at once, as he had a matter of the utmost importance to tell me. I came on the scene just too late; he was giving you his confidence. Did he say anything about me?"

      "He did not."

      "Then did he tell you that secret of great importance."

      "I decline to discuss the question, mademoiselle."

      Her eyes flashed an angry fire and her face hardened.

      "Mr. Phenays," she said earnestly, "you are unknowingly putting yourself into danger. I use the word advisedly; it is my duty to warn you. The Secret Service requires much of its votaries. The communication Mr. Escott made to you was not a pleasant one for you to receive; he only told you because I was not present. Beyond doubt his instructions were that you were to deliver the message to me."

      "You are mistaken," I answered. "Those were not his instructions."

      As I spoke I walked to the door and held it wide open.

      "I think, mademoiselle, our conference has come to an end."

      To my amazement she changed colour, the hard look left her face, her eyes filled with tears, which rolled over and ran down her cheeks.

      "I spoke hastily," she exclaimed. "I am always hasty, always excitable, unfit, most unfit for that which—which I have undertaken; but you are so cold, so suspicious. Why do you not trust me . Do you think I would injure him?"

      "I will be truthful with you," I replied. "My friend was about to confide a secret to me, but your entrance prevented it ever reaching his lips. I shall never know what he wanted to say. It was your fault. He sought to relieve his mind, and the secret may have been of consequence—that I am unprepared to say. I have never heard it; it can, therefore, never be imparted to you."

      She smiled.

      "Do you really think that I believe you?" she answered. "Did I not with my own ears hear words to convince me of the contrary? You will be sorry for this. Are you leaving Paris at once?"

      "After the funeral."

      She gave me a curious stare, but did not speak. Without offering her hand she left the room.

      On the day of the funeral I received a letter. It was directed in a strange hand, was enclosed in a black-edged envelope, and bore the mark of a Paris suburb. The words in it were typewritten, and were, in the French tongue. They ran as follows:—

      "We are well aware that your friend, before he died, told you his secret. Understand that if you divulge that secret to the British Government, or if in any way it reaches their ears, you are a dead man. No human precautions and no human laws can possibly protect you. We shall know at once by the steps the British Government will take on receipt of the intelligence whether they have learnt the secret or not. Therefore Beware."

      I read this strange letter twice, at first with bewilderment, then with growing interest. One of two things had happened: either I was the victim of a pitiable and laboured jest, or I had received a threat of some seriousness. In either case, the letter, being anonymous, must be disregarded. My thoughts naturally flew to Mademoiselle Delacourt. Could she have written the letter? I dismissed the notion as impossible. But if she were not the author, who was? for who else knew that I was with Escott?

      Just then the words the poor fellow had said on his deathbed recurred to my memory.

      "My life has been in great danger, and that danger I hand to you when I tell you my secret."

      A shudder ran through me.

      "I must consult my London lawyer about this," I said to myself, and I rose from my chair in Thesiger's sitting-room with the intention of packing my things. Just then a servant entered with a letter.

      "By messenger, sir," he said briefly.

      I tore open the letter. It was in a handwriting quite unknown to me.

      "Another anonymous communication," I said to myself. "What does it mean?"

      I turned quickly to the signature of the second letter, and then I gave a start of relief. The letter was headed "Château Laroque," and at the end was the signature "Edouard Laroque." These were the contents of the letter:—

      "My Dear Sir,

      "I have just heard, to my infinite distress, of my friend Escott's death. I received a letter from him a few days ago telling me that he was about to send for you in order to entrust a secret of great importance to your keeping. Now, as I know all about the matter, I am anxious to see you at once. My house is situated four kilometres outside the village of Bévallon. A train leaves the Gare du Nord for Bévallon at five o'clock this evening, arriving at the village at six o'clock. If you can make it convenient to come by that train, a carriage shall meet you and bring you at once to my château. Pray do not delay, as the matter is of great urgency.

      Yours faithfully,

       "Edouard Laroque."

      I gave a pleased exclamation. This letter was indeed a comfort. Just when I was despairing of ever being able to communicate with M. Laroque, he gave me the opportunity I required.

      When Thesiger came in I told him of Baroque's letter, at the same time mentioning that I intended to leave Paris that evening. He did not ask me for any particulars, but said that he would be pleased at any time to serve me and to put me up if I required to come back to the

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