The man’s glance again met Gabrielle’s, and she saw in his eyes a desperate look.  To tell the truth would, she knew, alas! cause the exposure of her secret and her disgrace.  On both sides had she suddenly become hemmed in by a deadly peril.

“Dad,” she cried suddenly, “do I not know all about your affairs already?  Do I not act as your secretary?  With what motive should I open your safe?”

Without response, the blind man moved back to the open door, and, placing his hand within, fingered one of the long iron drawers.  It was unlocked, and he drew it forth.  Some papers were within—­blue, legal-looking papers which his daughter had never seen.  “Yes,” he exclaimed aloud, “just as I thought.  This drawer has been opened, and my private affairs pried into.  Tell me, Gabrielle, where is young Murie just at present?”

“In Paris, I believe.  He left London unexpectedly three days ago.”

“Paris!” echoed the old man.  “Ah,” he added, “Goslin was right—­quite right.  And so you, my daughter, in whom I placed all my trust—­my—­my only friend—­have betrayed me!” he added brokenly.

“I have not betrayed you, dear father,” was her quick protest.  “To whom do you allege I have exposed your affairs?”

“To your lover, Walter.”

To Flockart, whose wits were already at work upon some scheme to extricate himself, there came at that instant a sudden suggestion.  He spoke, causing the old man to start suddenly and turn in the direction of the speaker.

As the words left his lips he raised a threatening finger towards Gabrielle, a sign of silence to her of which the old man was unfortunately in ignorance.

“I think, Sir Henry, that I ought to speak—­to tell you the truth, painful though it may be.  Five minutes ago I came down here in order to get a telegraph-form, as I wanted to send a wire at the earliest possible moment to-morrow, when, to my surprise, I saw a light beneath the door.  I——­”

“Oh, no, no!” gasped the girl, in horrified protest.  “It’s a lie!”

“I crept in quietly, and was very surprised to find Gabrielle with the safe open, and alone.  I had expected that she was sitting up late, working with you.  But she seemed to be examining and reading some papers she took from a drawer.  Forgive me for telling you this, but the truth must now be made plain.  I startled her by my sudden presence; and, pointing out the dishonour of copying her father’s papers, no matter for what purpose, I compelled her to return the documents to their place.  I fold her frankly that it was my duty, as your friend, to inform you of the incident; but she implored me, for the sake of her lover, to remain silent.”

“Mr. Flockart!” cried the girl, “how dare you say such a thing when you know it to be an untruth; when——­”

“Enough!” exclaimed her father bitterly.  “I’m ashamed of you, Gabrielle.  I——­”

“I would beg of you, Sir Henry, not further to distress yourself,” Flockart interrupted.  “Love, as you know, often prompts both men and women to commit acts of supreme folly.”