“She went up to town this morning.  She won’t be back till after dinner.  She’s with her old school-fellow—­that girl Bertha Trench.”

“Good.  Then we can have a chat.  I’ve several things to consult you about and ask your opinion.”

“Have some tea first,” urged his good-looking hostess, pouring him some into a Crown Derby cup.

“Well,” he commenced.  “I think you’ve done quite well to take this place, as you’ve done, for three years.  You are now safely out of the way.  The Paris Surete are making very diligent inquiries, but the Surrey Constabulary will never identify you with the lady of the Rue Racine.  So you are quite safe here.”

“Are you sure of that, Charles?” she asked, fixing her big grey eyes upon him.

“Certain.  It was the wisest course to get back here to England, although you had to take a very round-about journey.”

“Yes.  I got to Switzerland, then to Italy, and from Genoa took an Anchor Line steamer across to New York.  After that I came over to Liverpool, and in the meantime I had become Mrs. Bond.  Louise, of course, thought we were travelling for pleasure.  I had to explain my change of name by telling her that I did not wish my divorced husband to know that I was back in England.”

“And the girl believed it, of course,” he laughed.

“Of course.  She believes anything I tell her,” said the clever, unscrupulous woman for whom the Paris police were in active search, whose real name was Molly Maxwell, and whose amazing career was well known to the French police.

Only recently a sum of a quarter of a million francs had fallen into her hands, and with it she now rented Shapley Manor and had set up as a country lady.  Benton gazed around the fine old room with its Adams ceiling and its Georgian furniture, and reflected how different were Molly’s present surroundings from that stuffy little flat au troisieme in the Rue Racine.

“Yes,” he said.  “You had a very narrow escape, Molly.  I dared not come near you, but I knew that you’d look after the girl.”

“Of course.  I always look after her as though she were my own child.”

Benton’s lip curled as he sipped his China tea, and said: 

“Because so much depends upon her—­eh?  I’m glad you view the situation from a fair and proper stand-point.  We’re now out for a big thing, therefore we must not allow any little hitch to prevent us from bringing it off successfully.”

“I quite agree, Charles.  Our great asset is Louise.  But she must be innocent of it all.  She must know absolutely nothing.”

“True.  If she had an inkling that we were forcing her to marry Hugh she would fiercely resent it.  She’s a girl of spirit, after all.”

“My dear Charles, I know that,” laughed the woman.  “Ever since she came home from school I’ve noticed how independent she is.  She certainly has a will of her own.  But she likes Hugh, and we must encourage it.  Recollect that a fortune is at stake.”