“I think,” Lanyard suggested, recalling that conversation in the grand salon of the Chateau de Montalais, “you had better look to yourself, Athenais, as far as Liane is concerned, after to-night.  She only needed to see you with me to have confirmed any suspicions she may previously have had concerning your relations with the B. S. S.”

“I will remember that,” the girl said calmly.  “Many thanks, dear friend....  But what is it you are doing all the time?  What is it you see?”

As the hansom swung round the dark pile of the Trinite, Lanyard had for the third time twisted round in his seat, to peep back up the rue Pigalle through the little window in the rear.

“As I thought!” He let the leather flap fall over the peep-hole and sat back.  “Liane doesn’t trust me,” he sighed, disconsolate.

“We are followed?”

“By a motor-car of some sort, creeping along without lights, probably one of the private cars that were waiting when we came out.”

“I have a pistol, if you need one,” Athenais offered, matter-of-fact.

“Then you were more sensible than I.”

Lanyard held a thoughtful silence for some minutes, while the cab jogged sedately down the rue St. Lazare, then had another look back through the little window.

“No mistake about that,” he reported; and bending forward began to peer intently right and left into the dark throats of several minor streets they passed after leaving the Hotel Terminus behind and heading down the rue de la Pepiniere.  “The deuce of it is,” he complained, “this inhuman loneliness!  If there were only something like a crowd in the streets as there must have been earlier in the evening...”

“What are you thinking of, monsieur?”

“But naturally of ridding you of an embarrassing and perhaps dangerous companion.”

“If you mean you’re planning to jump down and run for it,” Athenais replied, “you’re a fool.  You’ll not get far with a motor car pursuing you and sergents de ville abnormally on the qui vive because the crime wave that followed demobilisation as yet shows no signs of subsiding.”

“But, mademoiselle, it makes me so unhappy to have any shadow but my own.”

“Then rest tranquil here with me.  It isn’t much farther to my apartment.”

“Possibly it would be better to drop you there first—­”

“Nothing of the sort; but positively the contrary.”

“My dear child! if I were to do as you wish they would think—­”

“My dear Paul, I don’t give a damn what they think.  Remember I am specially charged with the preservation of your life while in Paris.  Besides, my apartment is the most discreet little rez-de-chaussee one could wish.  There is more than one way in and out.  And once they think you are placed for the night, it’s more than likely they won’t even set a watch, but will trot off to report.  Then you can slip away when you will....”  He stared, knowing a moment of doubt to which a hard little laugh put a period.