“Well?” I said.

“I don’t ask you,” he went on crisply, “what you’re doing here—­”

“You had better not!” I snapped.  “What tomfoolery is this?  Do you think you are a police officer heckling a crook?  And why should you ask me such a question any more than I should ask you?”

He grinned meaningly.

“Well,” he commented, “there might be reasons.  I’m here on business, with papers in order, and three French officers to answer for me; but you’re a kind of a funny person to make a bee-line for a place like Bleau.  An inn like this doesn’t seem your style, somehow.  I’d say the Ritz was more your type.  And while we’re at it, did you go to the Paris Prefecture this morning, like all foreigners are told to, and show your passport, and get your police card?  Have you got it with you?  If you have you stepped pretty lively, considering you left Paris by three o’clock.”

“If any one in authority asks me that,” I said, “I’ll answer him.  I certainly don’t propose to answer you.”  My arms were folded; I looked haughtily indifferent; but it was pure bluff.  The only paper I had with me was my passport.  What the dickens could I do if he turned nasty along such lines.

“As I was saying,” he resumed, unruffled, “I’m not asking you why you’re here—­because I know.  I’ve got to hand it to you that you’re a dead-game sport.  Most men’s hair would have turned white at Gibraltar after the fuss you had.  And here you are again—­in the ring for all you’re worth!”

“I suppose you mean something,” I said wearily, “but it’s too subtle and cryptic.  Please use words of one syllable.”

He nodded tolerantly.  Leaning back, thumbs in his waistcoat-pockets, swelling visibly, he was an offensive picture of self-satisfaction and content.

“You can’t get away with it, Mr. Bayne,” he declared impressively.  “You’ve taken on too much; I’m giving it to you straight.  You can do a lot with money and good clothes, and being born a gentleman and acting like one, and having friends to help you; but you can’t buck the French Government and the French army and the French police.  In a little affair of this sort you wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.  Even your ambassador would turn you down cold.  He wouldn’t dare do anything else.  This is the last call for dinner in the dining-car, for you.  Last time I wanted to tell you the facts of the case you wouldn’t listen.  Will you listen now?”

I considered.

“Yes,” I said, “I’ll listen.  Go ahead!”

He foundered for a moment, and then plunged in boldly.

“About this young lady who’s brought you and me to Bleau.  Oh, you needn’t lift your eyebrows, much as to say, ‘What young lady?’ You know she’s here, and I know it; and she knows I’ve come and has put her light out and is shaking in her shoes over there.  I can swear to that.  Well, I want to tell you I never started out to get her; I just stumbled across her on the