For my own part I am not fond of disguises.  Indeed on only two or three occasions, during the whole course of my professional career, have I found it necessary to conceal my identity.  But to this wily little Frenchman disguise was, as often as not, a common occurrence.

Half-an-hour later, two respectable elderly gentlemen, looking more like professors from some eminent Lycee than detectives, left the house and proceeded in the direction of the Folly Theatre.  The performance was almost at an end when we reached it, and we mingled with the crowd who had assembled to watch the audience come out.  The inquiries we had made proved to be correct, and it was not very long before I saw the man I wanted emerge, accompanied by a female, who could be no other than Mademoiselle Beaumarais.  Hayle was in immaculate evening dress, and as I could not but admit, presented a handsome figure to the world.  A neat little brougham drew up beside the pavement in its turn, and into this they stepped.  Then the door was closed upon them, and the carriage drove away.

“That’s my man,” I said to my companion, as we watched it pass out of sight.  “To-morrow morning I shall pay him a little visit.  I think you were quite right in what you said about the money.  That woman must have made a fairly big hole in it already.”

“You may be quite sure of that,” he answered.  “When she has finished with him there will not be much left for anybody else.”

“And now to get these things off and then home to bed.  To-morrow will in all probability prove an exciting day.”

I accompanied him to his room and removed the disguise which had enabled me to see Hayle without his being aware of my identity, and then, bidding my friend good-night, returned to my abode.  Before I went to bed, however, I sat down and wrote a report of my doings for Miss Kitwater.  Little as I had to tell, the writing of this letter gave me considerable pleasure.  I could imagine it coming like a breath from another world to that quiet house at Bishopstowe.  I pictured the girl’s face as she read it, and the strained attention of the two men, who, needless to say, would hang on every word.  When I had finished it I went to bed, to dream that Gideon Hayle and I were swimming a race in the Seine for five gigantic rubies which were to be presented to the winner by Miss Kitwater.

Next morning I arose early, went for a stroll along the Boulevards, and returned to breakfast at eight o’clock.  In the matter of my breakfasts in Paris, I am essentially English.  I must begin the day with a good meal, or I am fit for nothing.  On this particular occasion I sat down on the best of terms with myself and the world in general.  I made an excellent meal, did the best I could with the morning paper, for my French is certainly not above reproach, and then wondered when I should set out to interview the man whose flight from England had proved the reason of my visiting Paris.  Then the door opened and the concierge entered with the words, “A gentleman to see Monsieur!” Next moment to my overwhelming surprise no less a person than Gideon Hayle entered the room.