“You see,” Monk expounded—­solemn ass that he was beneath his thin veneer of pretentiousness—­“when we know how the British Government kicked you out of its Secret Service as soon as it had no further use for you, we can understand and sympathise with your natural reaction to such treatment at the hands of Society.”

“But one didn’t know you knew so much, monsieur le capitaine.”

“And then,” said Phinuit, “when we know you steered a direct course from London for the Chateau de Montalais, and made yourself persona grata there—­Oh, persona very much grata, if I’m any judge!—­you can hardly ask us to believe you didn’t mean to do it, it all just happened so.”

“Monsieur sees too clearly....”

“Why, if it comes to that—­what were you up to that night, pussyfooting about the chateau at two in the morning?”

“But this is positively uncanny!  Monsieur knows everything.”

“Why shouldn’t I know about that?” Vanity rang in Phinuit’s self-conscious chuckle.  “Who’d you think laid you out that night?”

“Monsieur is not telling me——!”

“I guess I owe you an apology,” Phinuit admitted.  “But you’ll admit that in our situation there was nothing else for it.  I’d have given anything if we’d been able to get by any other way; but you’re such an unexpected customer....  Well! when I felt you catch hold of my shirt sleeve, that night, I thought we were done for and struck out blindly.  It was a lucky blow, no credit to me.  Hope I didn’t jar you too much.”

“No,” said Lanyard, reflective—­“no, I was quite all right in the morning.  But I think I owe you one.”

“Afraid you do; and it’s going to be my duty and pleasure to cheat you out of your revenge if fast footwork will do it.”

“But where was Captain Monk all the while?”

“Right here,” Monk answered for himself; “sitting tight and saying nothing, and duly grateful that the blue prints and specifications of the Great Architect didn’t design me for second-storey work.”

“Then it was Jules——?”

“No; Jules doesn’t know enough.  It was de Lorgnes, of course.  I thought you’d guess that.”

“How should I?”

“Didn’t you know he was the premier cracksman of France?  That is, going on Mademoiselle Delorme’s account of him; she says there was never anybody like that poor devil for putting the comether on a safe—­barring yourself, Monsieur le Loup Seul, in your palmy days.  And she ought to know; those two have been working together since the Lord knows when.  A sound, conservative bird, de Lorgnes; very discreet, tight-mouthed even when drunk—­which was too often.”

“But—­this is most interesting—­how did you get separated, you and de Lorgnes?”

“Bad luck, a black night, and—­I guess there’s no more question about this—­your friend, Popinot-Dupont.  I’ll say this for that blighter:  as a self-made spoil-sport, he sure did give service!”