Then, when he had served it and left, Goslin rose, and, crossing to the door, pushed the little brass bolt into its socket.  Returning to his chair opposite the blind man (whose food Hill had already cut up for him), he exclaimed in a very calm, serious voice, speaking in French, “I want you to hear what I have to say, Sir Henry, without exciting yourself unduly.  Something has occurred—­something very strange and remarkable.”

The other dropped his knife, and sat statuesque and expressionless.  “Go on,” he said hoarsely.  “Tell me the worst at once.”

“The worst has not yet happened.  It is that which I’m dreading.”

“Well, what has happened?  Is—­is the secret out?”

“The secret is safe—­for the present.”

The blind man drew a long breath.  “Well, that’s one thing to be thankful for,” he gasped.  “I was afraid you were going to tell me that the facts were exposed.”

“They may yet be exposed,” the mysterious visitor exclaimed.  “That’s where lies the danger.”

“We have been betrayed, eh?  You may as well admit the ugly truth at once, Goslin!”

“I do not conceal it, Sir Henry.  We have.”

“By whom?”

“By somebody here—­in this house.”

“Here!  What do you mean?  Somebody in my own house?”

“Yes.  The Greek affair is known.  They have been put upon their guard in Athens.”

“By whom?” cried the Baronet, starting from his chair.

“By somebody whom we cannot trace—­somebody who must have had access to your papers.”

“No one has had access to my papers.  I always take good care of that, Goslin—­very good care of that.  The affair has leaked out at your end, not at mine.”

“At our end we are always circumspect,” the Frenchman said calmly.  “Rest assured that nobody but we ourselves are aware of our operations or intentions.  We know only too well that any revelation would assuredly bring upon us—­disaster.”

“But a revelation has actually been made!” exclaimed Sir Henry, bending forward.  “Therefore the worst is to be feared.”

“Exactly.  That is what I am endeavouring to convey.”

“The betrayal must have come from your end, I expect; not from here.”

“I regret to assert that it came from here—­from this very room.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because in Athens they have a complete copy of one of the documents which you showed me on the last occasion I was here, and which we have never had in our possession.”

The blind man was silent.  The allegation admitted of no argument.

“My daughter Gabrielle is the only person who has seen it, and she understands nothing of our affairs, as you know quite well.”

“She may have copied it.”

“My daughter would never betray me, Goslin,” said Sir Henry in a hard, distinct voice, rising from the table and slowly walking down the long, book-lined room.