“Yes,” said Captain Stewart, with a sharp, hard breath, “he should have shot straighter or not at all.”

The Irishman stared at him with his bright blue eyes, and after a moment he gave a short laugh.

“Jove, you’re a bloodthirsty beggar, Stewart!” said he.  “That would have been a rum go, if you like!  Killing the fellow!  All his friends down on us like hawks, and the police and all that!  You can’t go about killing people in the outskirts of Paris, you know—­at least not people with friends.  And this chap looks like a gentleman, more or less, so I take it he has friends.  As a matter of fact, his face is rather familiar.  I think I’ve seen him before, somewhere.  You looked at him just now through the crack of the door; do you know who he is?  Coira tells me he called out to Arthur by name, but Arthur says he never saw him before and doesn’t know him at all.”

Captain Stewart shivered.  It had not been a pleasant moment for him, that moment when he had looked through the crack of the door and recognized Ste. Marie.

“Yes,” he said, half under his breath—­“yes, I know who he is.  A friend of the family.”

The Irishman’s lips puckered to a low whistle.  He said: 

“Spying, then, as I thought.  He has run us to earth.”

And the other nodded.  O’Hara took a turn across the room and back.

“In that case,” he said, presently—­“in that case, then, we must keep him prisoner here so long as we remain.  That’s certain.”  He spun round sharply with an exclamation.  “Look here!” he cried, in a lower tone, “how about this fellow’s friends?  It isn’t likely he’s doing his dirty work alone.  How about his friends, when he doesn’t turn up to-night?  If they know he was coming here to spy on us; if they know where the place is; if they know, in short, what he seems to have known, we’re done for.  We’ll have to run, get out, disappear.  Hang it, man, d’you understand?  We’re not safe here for an hour.”

Captain Stewart’s hands shook a little as he gripped them together behind him, and a dew of perspiration stood out suddenly upon his forehead and cheek-bones, but his voice, when he spoke, was well under control.

“It’s an odd thing,” said he—­“another miracle, if you like—­but I believe we are safe—­reasonably safe.  I—­have reason to think that this fellow learned about La Lierre only last evening from some one who left Paris to-day to be gone a long time.  And I also have reason to believe that the fellow has not seen the one friend who is in his confidence, since he obtained his information.  By chance I met the friend, the other man, in the street this afternoon.  I asked after this fellow whom we have here, and the friend said he hadn’t seen him for twenty-four hours—­was going to see him to-night.”

“By the Lord!” cried the Irishman, with a great laugh of relief.  “What luck!  What monumental luck!  If all that’s true, we’re safe.  Why, man, we’re as safe as a fox in his hole.  The lad’s friends won’t have the ghost of an idea of where he’s gone to....  Wait, though!  Stop a bit!  He won’t have left written word behind him, eh?  He won’t have done that—­for safety?”