Those neatly typed pages which she read could be always construed in two or three senses.  But only her father knew the actual meaning which the writer intended to convey.  For hours she would often be engaged in reading them.  Sometimes, too, telegrams in cipher arrived, and she would then obtain the little, dark-blue covered book from the safe, and by its aid decipher the messages from the French capital.

Questions, curious questions, were frequently asked by the anonymous sender of the reports; and to these her father replied by means of his private code.  She had become during the past year quite an expert typist, and therefore to her the Baronet entrusted the replies, always impressing upon her the need of absolute secrecy, even from her mother.

“My affairs,” he often declared, “concern nobody but myself.  I trust in you, Gabrielle dear, to guard my secrets from prying eyes.  I know that you yourself must often be puzzled, but that is only natural.”

Unfamiliar as the girl was with business in any form, she had during the past year arrived at the conclusion, after much debate within herself, that this source of her father’s income was a distinctly mysterious one.  The estates were, of course, large, and he employed agents to manage them; but they could not produce that huge income which she knew he possessed, for had she not more than once seen the amount of his balance at his banker’s as well as the large sum he had on deposit?  The source of his colossal wealth was a mystery, but was no doubt connected with his curious and constant communications with Paris.

At rare intervals a grey-faced, grey-bearded, and rather stout Frenchman—­a certain Monsieur Goslin—­called, and on such occasions was closeted for a long time alone with Sir Henry, evidently discussing some important affair in secret.  To her ladyship, as well as to Gabrielle, the Frenchman was most courteous, but refused the pressing invitations to remain the night.  He always arrived by the morning train from Perth, and left for the south the same night, the express being stopped for him by signal at Auchterarder station.  The mysterious visitor puzzled Gabrielle considerably.  Her father entrusted him with secrets which he withheld from her, and this often caused her both surprise and annoyance.  Like every other girl, she was of course full of curiosity.

Towards her Flockart became daily more friendly.  On two occasions, after breakfast, he had invited her to spend an hour or two fishing for trout in the burn, which was unexpectedly in spate, and they had thus been some time in each other’s company.