Neither of us spoke nor made a sound during the instant that she clung to me, the faint, well-remembered perfume of her hair, her dress, in my nostrils.  But as she started away, and I knew that she had the letter-case, the knock came again.  Then, before I could be sure whether she wished for time to hide, or whether she would have me cry “come in,” without seeming to hesitate, the door opened.  For a second or two Maxine and I, and a group of figures at the door were mere shadows in the ever deepening pink dusk:  but I could scarcely have counted ten before the long expected light sprang up.  I had turned it on in more than one place:  and a sudden, brilliant illumination showed me a tall Commissary of Police, with two little gendarmes looking over his shoulder.

I threw a glance at Maxine, who was still veiled, and was relieved to see that she had found some means of putting the letter-case out of sight.  Having ascertained this, I sharply enquired in French what in the devil’s name the Commissary of Police meant by walking into an Englishman’s room without being invited; and not only that, but what under heaven he wanted anyway.

He was far more polite than I was.

“Ten thousand pardons, Monsieur,” he apologised.  “I knocked twice, but hearing no answer, entered, thinking that perhaps, after all, the salon was unoccupied.  Important business must be my excuse.  I have to request that Monsieur Dundas will first place in my hands the gift he has brought from London to Mademoiselle de Renzie.”

“I have brought no gift for Mademoiselle de Renzie,” I prevaricated boldly; but the man’s knowledge of my name was ominous.  If the Paris police had contrived to learn it already, as well as to find out that I was the bearer of something for Maxine, it looked as if they knew enough to play the game in their own way—­whatever that might be.

“Perhaps I should say, the thing which Mademoiselle lent—­to a friend in England, and Monsieur has now kindly returned,” amended the Commissary of Police as politely, as patiently, as ever.

“Really, I don’t know what you are talking about,” I said, shrugging my shoulders and looking bewildered—­or hoping that I looked bewildered.  All the while I was wondering, desperately, if this meant ruin for Maxine, or if she would still find some way of saving herself.  But all I could do for her at the moment was to keep calm, and tell as many lies as necessary.  I hadn’t been able to lie to Diana; but I had no compunctions about doing it now, if it were to help Maxine.  The worst was, that I was far from sure it would help her.

“I trust, Monsieur, that you do not wish to prevent the French police from doing their duty,” said the officer, his tone becoming peremptory for the first time.  “Should you attempt it, I should unfortunately be compelled to order that Monsieur be searched.”

“You seem to forget that you’re dealing with a British subject,” said I.