“Alas!  Sir,” she rejoined, with a heart-rending sigh, “if you mean me, I am only to be pitied.  My dear mother and I are naught but slaves to the will of my brother, who uses us as tools for his nefarious ends.”

“But . . .”  I stammered, horrified beyond speech at the vista of villainy which her words had opened up before me.

“My mother, Sir,” she said simply, “is old and ailing; she is dying of anguish at sight of her son’s misdeeds.  I would not, could not leave her, yet I would give my life to see her free from that miscreant’s clutches!”

My whole soul was stirred to its depths by the intensity of passion which rang through this delicate creature’s words.  What weird and awesome mystery of iniquity and of crime lay hid, I wondered, between these walls?  In what tragedy had I thus accidentally become involved while fulfilling my prosaic duty in the interest of His Majesty’s exchequer?  As in a flash it suddenly came to me that perhaps I could serve both this lovely creature and the Emperor better by going out of the house now, and lying hidden all the night through somewhere in its vicinity until in daylight I could locate its exact situation.  Then I could communicate with Leroux at once and procure the apprehension of this Berty—­or Fournier—­who apparently was a desperate criminal.  Already a bold plan was taking shape in my brain, and with my mind’s eye I had measured the distance which separated me from the front door and safety when, in the distance, I heard heavy footsteps slowly descending the stairs.  I looked at my lovely companion, and saw her eyes gradually dilating with increased horror.  She gave a smothered cry, pressed her handkerchief to her lips, then she murmured hoarsely, “Too late!” and fled precipitately from the room, leaving me a prey to mingled emotions such as I had never experienced before.

3.

A moment or two later M. Ernest Berty, or whatever his real name may have been, entered the room.  Whether he had encountered his exquisite sister on the corridor or the stairs, I could not tell; his face, in the dim light of the hanging lamp, looked impenetrable and sinister.

“This way, M. Barrot,” he said curtly.

Just for one brief moment the thought occurred to me to throw myself upon him with my whole weight—­which was considerable—­and make a wild dash for the front door.  But it was more than probable that I should be intercepted and brought back, after which no doubt I would be an object of suspicion to these rascals and my life would not be worth an hour’s purchase.  With the young girl’s warnings ringing in my ears, I felt that my one chance of safety and of circumventing these criminals lay in my seeming ingenuousness and complete guileless-ness.

I assumed a perfect professional manner and followed my companion up the stairs.  He ushered me into a room just above the one where I had been waiting up to now.  Three men dressed in rough clothes were sitting at a table on which stood a couple of tankards and four empty pewter mugs.  My employer offered me a glass of ale, which I declined.  Then we got to work.