The whole atmosphere was a military one, for, indeed, the little town of Ronvaux is, even in these peace days, scarcely more than a huge camp.

For a few minutes Le Pontois stood chatting to a group of men at the door. They had invited him to come across to their quarters, but he had explained that he was awaiting mademoiselle. So they raised their eyebrows, smiled mischievously, and bade him "bon soir."

Soldiers were already stacking up the chairs ready for the clearance of the gymnasium for the morrow. Others were coming to water and sweep out the place. Therefore Le Pontois remained outside in the square, waiting in patience.

He was reflecting. That evening, as he had sat with his wife watching the play, he had been seized by a curious feeling for which he entirely failed to account. Behind him there had sat a man and a woman, French without a doubt, but entire strangers. They must, of course, have known one or other of the officers in order to obtain an admission ticket.

Nevertheless, they had spoken to no one, and on the fall of the curtain had entered a brougham in waiting and driven off.

Paul had made no comment. By a sudden chance he had, during the entr'acte, risen and gazed around, when the face of the stranger had caught his eyes--a face which he felt was curiously familiar, yet he could not place it. The middle-aged man was dressed with quiet elegance, clean-shaven and keen-faced, apparently a prosperous civilian, while the lady with him was of about the same age and apparently his wife. She was dressed in a high-necked dress of black lace, and wore in her corsage a large circular ornament of diamonds and emeralds.

Twice had Le Pontois taken furtive glances at the stranger whose lined brow was so extraordinarily familiar. It was the face of a deep thinker, a man who had, perhaps, pa.s.sed through much trouble. Was it possible, he wondered, that he had seen that striking face in some photograph, or perhaps in some ill.u.s.trated paper? He had racked his brain through the whole performance, but could not decide in what circ.u.mstances they had previously met.

From time to time the stranger had joined with the audience in their hearty laughter, or applauded as vociferously as the others, his companion being equally amused at the quaint sayings of the demure "Mees Smeeth."

And even as he stood in the shadows near the general's car awaiting Enid he was still wondering who the pair might be.

At the fall of the curtain he had made several inquiries of the officers, but n.o.body could give him any information. They were complete strangers--that was all. Even a search among the cards of invitation had revealed nothing.

So Paul Le Pontois remained mystified.

Enid came at last, flushed with success and apologetic because she had kept him waiting. But he only congratulated her, and a.s.sisted her into the car. It was a big open one, therefore she wore a thick motor coat and veil as protection against the chill autumn night.

A moment later the soldier-chauffeur mounted to his seat, and slowly they moved across the great square and out by the gates, where the sentries saluted. Then, turning to the right, they were quickly tearing along the highway in the darkness.

Soon they overtook several closed carriages of the home-going visitors, and, ascending the hill, turned from the main road down into a by-road leading through a wooded valley, which was a short cut to the chateau.

Part of their way led through the great Foret d'Amblonville, and though Enid's gay chatter was mostly of the play, the defects in the acting and the several amusing _contretemps_ which had occurred behind the scenes, her companion's thoughts were constantly of that stranger whose brow was so deeply lined with care.

They expected to overtake Sir Hugh in the brougham, but so long had Enid been changing her gown that they saw nothing of the others.

Just, however, as they were within a hundred yards or so of the gates which gave entrance to the chateau, and were slowing down in order to swing into the drive, a man emerged from the darkness, calling upon the driver to stop, and, placing himself before the car, held up his hands.

Next instant the figure of a second individual appeared. Enid uttered a cry of alarm, but the second man, who wore a hard felt hat and dark overcoat, rea.s.sured her by saying in French:

"Pray do not distress yourself, mademoiselle. There is no cause for alarm. My friend and I merely wish to speak for a moment with Monsieur Le Pontois before he enters his house. For that reason we have presumed to stop your car."

"But who are you?" demanded Le Pontois angrily. "Who are you that you should hold us up like this?"

"Perhaps, m'sieur, it would be better if you descended and escorted mademoiselle as far as your gates. We wish to speak to you for a moment upon a little matter which is both urgent and private."

"Well, cannot you speak here, now, and let us proceed?"

"Not before mademoiselle," replied the man. "It is a confidential matter."

Paul, much puzzled at the curious demeanour of the strangers, reluctantly handed Enid out, and walked with her as far as his own gate, telling her to a.s.sure Blanche that he would return in a few moments, when he had heard what the men wanted.

"Very well," she laughed. "I'll say nothing. You can tell her all when you come in."

The girl pa.s.sed through the gates and up the gravelled drive to the house, when Le Pontois, turning upon his heel to return to the car, was met by the two men, who, he found, had walked closely behind him.

"You are Paul Le Pontois?" inquired the elder of the pair brusquely.

"Of course! Why do you ask that?"

"Because it is necessary," was his businesslike reply. Then he added: "I regret, m'sieur, that you must consider yourself under arrest by order of his Excellency the Minister of Justice."

"Arrest!" gasped the unhappy man. "Are you mad, messieurs?"

"No," replied the man who had spoken.

"We have merely our duty to perform, and have travelled from Paris to execute it."

"With what offence am I charged?" Le Pontois demanded.

"Of that we have no knowledge. As agents of secret police, we are sent here to convey you for interrogation."

The man under arrest stood dumbfounded.

"But at least you will allow me to say farewell to my wife and child--to make excuse to them for my absence?" he urged.

"I regret that is quite impossible, m'sieur. Our orders are to make the arrest and to afford you no opportunity to communicate with anyone."

"But this is cruel, inhuman! His Excellency never meant that, I am quite sure--especially when I am innocent of any crime, as far as I am aware."

"We can only obey our orders, m'sieur," replied the man in the dark overcoat.

"Then may I not write a line to my wife, just one word of excuse?" he pleaded.

The two police agents consulted.

"Well," replied the elder of the pair, who was the one in authority, "if you wish to scribble a note, here are paper and pencil." And he tore a leaf from his notebook and handed it to the prisoner.

By the light of the head-lamps of the car Paul scribbled a few hurried words to Blanche: "I am detained on important business," he wrote. "I will return to-morrow. My love to you both.--PAUL."

The detective read it, folded it carefully, and handed it to his a.s.sistant, telling him to go up to the chateau and deliver it at the servants' entrance.

When he had gone the detective, turning to the chauffeur, said: "I shall require you to take us to Verdun."

"This is not my car, m'sieur," replied Paul. "It belongs to General Molon."

"That does not matter. I will telephone to him an explanation as soon as we arrive in Verdun. We may as well enter the car as stand here."

Paul Le Pontois was about to protest, but what could he say? The Minister in Paris had apparently committed some grave error in thus ordering his arrest. No doubt there would be confusion, apologies and laughter. So, with a light heart at the knowledge that he had committed no offence, he got into the car, and allowed the polite police agent to seat himself beside him.

The only chagrin he felt was that the chauffeur had overheard all the conversation. And to him he said: "Remember, Gallet, of this affair you know nothing."

"I understand perfectly, m'sieur," was the wondering soldier's reply.