“I trust,” he said, “that monsieur will have a pleasant journey and pleasant companions.”

I glanced into the coupe which we were just passing.  It seemed curious that even as the wish left his lips I should find myself looking into the dark eyes of the girl whose face had been so often in my thoughts during the last few days!  Opposite her was the gray-bearded man Delora, already apparently immersed in a novel.  Every seat in the compartment was laden with their small belongings,—­dressing-bags, pillows, a large jewel-case, books, papers, flowers, and a box of chocolates.  I turned to Louis.

“Again,” I remarked, “we meet friends.  What a small place the world is!”

We stepped down on to the platform.  Louis, for some reason, seemed slightly nervous.  He glanced up at the clock and watched the few late arrivals with an interest which was almost intense.

“Monsieur,” he said, a little abruptly, “there is a question which I should like to ask you before you leave.”

“There are a good many I should like to ask you, Louis,” I answered, “but they will keep.  Go ahead.”

“I should like to know,” Louis said, “where you spent the hour which passed between your leaving the Cafe Normandy and arriving at the Ritz.”

I hesitated for a moment.  After all, I had no reason to keep my movements secret.  It was better, indeed, to avoid complications so far as possible.

“You shall know if you like, Louis,” I said.  “I kept my appointment with the young lady of the turquoises.”

Louis’ pale face seemed suddenly strained.

“It was my fault!” he muttered.  “I should not have left you!  You do not understand how those affairs are here in Paris!  If Bartot knew—­”

“Bartot did know,” I interrupted.

Louis’ face was a study.

“Bartot came in while I was talking to mademoiselle,” I said.

“There was a scene?” Louis inquired breathlessly.  “Bartot threatened monsieur?  Perhaps there were blows?”

“Nothing of the sort,” I answered.  “Bartot blustered a little and mademoiselle wrung her hands, but they played their parts badly.  Between you and me, Louis, I have a sort of an idea that Bartot’s coming was not altogether accidental.”

“It was a trap,” Louis murmured softly.  “But why?”

I shook my head.

“Louis,” I said, “I am the wrong sort of man to be even a temporary dweller in this nest of intrigue.  I do not understand it at all.  I do not understand any of you.  I only know that I owe you and those other gentlemen a very considerable debt, and I have been solemnly warned against you by the young lady whom I met at the Cafe de Paris.  I have been assured that association with you is the first step toward my undoing.  Monsieur Bartot, for all his bluster, seemed very anxious to be friendly.”

“It was the girl!” Louis exclaimed.  “Bartot was too big a fool to understand!”