"I swear I did not."

"Then perhaps you will deny that this is in your hand?" the director asked slowly, with a grin, as he fixed his eyes upon Paul and handed him a sheet of his own note-paper bearing the address of the chateau embossed in green.

Paul took it in his trembling fingers, and as he did so his countenance fell.

It was the rough account of his investments and profits he remembered making for his father-in-law. He had cast it unheeded into the waste-paper basket, whence it had, no doubt, been recovered by those who had spied upon him and placed with the reports as evidence against him.

"You admit making that calculation?" asked Bezard severely. "Those figures are, I believe, in your handwriting?"

"Yes; but I have had nothing to do with any forgers of banknotes,"

declared the unhappy man, reseating himself.

"Ah! Then you admit making the calculation? That in itself is sufficient for the present. However, cannot you give us some explanation of that secret visit of yours to Thillot? Remember, you have to prove your innocence!"

"I--I cannot--not, at least, at present," faltered the prisoner.

"You refuse?"

"Yes, m'sieur, I flatly refuse," was the hoa.r.s.e reply. "As I have told you, that visit concerned the honour of a woman."

The men again exchanged glances of disbelief, while the victim of those dastardly allegations sat breathless, amazed at the astounding manner in which his most innocent actions had been misconstrued into incriminating evidence.

He was under arrest as one who had placed forged English banknotes in circulation in France!

CHAPTER XIX

IN WHICH A TRUTH IS HIDDEN

WHEN Walter Fetherston entered the tasteful drawing-room at Hill Street four days later he found Enid alone, seated by the fire.

The dull London light of the autumn afternoon was scarcely sufficient for him to distinguish every object in the apartment, but as he advanced she rose and stood silhouetted against the firelight, a slight, graceful figure, with hand outstretched.

"Both mother and Sir Hugh are out--gone to a matinee at the Garrick," she exclaimed. "I'm so glad you've come in," and she placed a chair for him.

"I have heard that you are leaving for Egypt to-morrow," he said, "and I wished to have a chat with you."

"We go to Italy first, and to Egypt after Christmas," she replied.

"Mother has promised to join us in Luxor at the end of January."

"If I were you, Enid," he replied gravely, bending towards her, "I would make some excuse and remain in England."

"Why?" she asked, her eyes opening widely. "I don't understand!"

"I regret that I am unable to speak more plainly," he said. "I warned you to leave France, and I was glad that you and Sir Hugh heeded my warning.

Otherwise--well, perhaps an unpleasant incident would have resulted."

"You always speak in enigmas nowadays," said the girl, again standing near the fireplace, dainty in her dark skirt and cream silk jumper. "Why did you send me that extraordinary note?"

"In your own interests," was his vague reply. "I became aware that your further presence in the house of Monsieur Le Pontois was--well--undesirable--that's all."

"I really think you entertain some antagonism against Paul," she declared, "yet he's such a good fellow."

The novelist's eyes sparkled through his pince-nez as he replied: "He's very good-looking, I admit, and, no doubt, a perfect cavalier."

"You suspect me of flirtations with him, of course," she pouted. "Well, you're not the first man who has chaffed me about that."

"No, no," he laughed. "I'm in no way jealous, I a.s.sure you. I merely told you that your departure from the chateau would be for the best."

He did not tell her that within an hour of their leaving French territory an official telegram had been received from Paris by the local commissaire of police with orders to detain them both, nor that just before dark an insignificant-looking man in black had called at the chateau and been informed by Jean that the English general and his stepdaughter had already departed.

The whole of that night the wires between the sous-prefecture at Briey and Paris had been at work, and many curious official messages had been exchanged. Truly, the pair had had a providential escape.

Sir Hugh was, of course, in entire ignorance of the dastardly action taken by the Pimlico doctor.

Without duly counting the cost, he had declared at his last interview with Weirmarsh that their criminal partnership was now at an end. And the doctor had taken him at his word.

Had not the doctor in London told his a.s.sistant, Heureux, that Sir Hugh's sphere of usefulness was at an end, and that, in all probability, a _contretemps_ would occur--one which would in future save to "the syndicate" the sum of five thousand pounds per annum?

Truth to tell, Bezard, director of the Surete, had telegraphed orders for the arrest of Sir Hugh and his daughter. But, thanks to the shrewdness of Fetherston, who had lingered in the vicinity to afford them protection if necessary, they had succeeded in escaping only a single hour before the message reached its destination.

Neither of them knew of this, and the novelist intended that they should remain in ignorance--just as they were still in ignorance of the reason of Paul's visit to Paris and of his detention there.

If they were aware of the reason of his warning, then they would most certainly question him as to the manner in which he was able to gain knowledge of the betrayal by Weirmarsh. He had no desire to be questioned upon such matters. The motives of his action--always swift, full of shrewd foresight, and often in disregard of his own personal safety--were known alone to himself and to Scotland Yard.

If the truth were told, he had not been alone in Eastern France. At the little old-world Croix-Blanche at Briey a stout, middle-aged, ruddy-faced English tourist had had his headquarters; while, again, at the unpretending Cloche d'Or in the Place St. Paul at Verdun another Englishman, a young, active, clean-shaven man, had been moving about the country in constant communication with "Mr. Maltwood." Wherever the doctor from Pimlico and his a.s.sistant, Heureux, had gone, there also went one or other of those two sharp-eyed but un.o.btrusive Englishmen. Every action of the doctor had been noted, and information of it conveyed to the quiet-mannered man in pince-nez.

"Really, Walter, you are quite as mysterious as your books," Enid was declaring, with a laugh. "I do wish you would satisfy my curiosity and tell me why you urged me to leave France so suddenly."

"I had reasons--strong reasons which you may, perhaps, some day know,"

was his response. "I am only glad that you thought fit to take the advice I offered. This afternoon I have called to give you further advice--namely, to remain in England, at least for the present."

"But I can't. My friend Jane Caldwell has been waiting a whole fortnight for me, suffering from asthma in these abominable fogs."

"You can make some excuse. I a.s.sure you that to remain in London will be for the best," he said, while she switched on the shaded electric lights, which shed a soft glow over the handsome room--that apartment, the costly furniture of which had been purchased out of the money secretly supplied by Weirmarsh.

"But I can't see why I should remain," she protested, facing him again.

He noted how strikingly handsome she was, her dimpled cheeks delicately moulded and her pretty chin slightly protruding, which gave a delightful piquancy to her features.

"I wish I could explain further. I can't at present!"

"You are, as I have already said, so amazingly mysterious--so full of secrets always!"

The man sighed, his brows knit slightly.

"Yes," he said, "I am full of secrets--strange, astounding secrets they are--secrets which some time, if divulged, would mean terrible complications, ruin to those who are believed to be honest and upright."