“It is most annoying,” he said to Obenreizer—­“it is a piece of forgetfulness on Monsieur Rolland’s part which puts me to serious inconvenience, and places me in an absurdly false position towards you.  What am I to do?  I am acting in a very serious matter, and acting entirely in the dark.  I have no choice but to be guided, not by the spirit, but by the letter of my instructions.  You understand me, I am sure?  You know, if I had not been fettered in this way, how gladly I should have accepted your services?”

“Say no more!” returned Obenreizer.  “In your place I should have done the same.  My good friend, I take no offence.  I thank you for your compliment.  We shall be travelling companions, at any rate,” added Obenreizer.  “You go, as I go, at once?”

“At once.  I must speak to Marguerite first, of course!”

“Surely! surely!  Speak to her this evening.  Come, and pick me up on the way to the station.  We go together by the mail train to-night?”

“By the mail train to-night.”

* * * * *

It was later than Vendale had anticipated when he drove up to the house in Soho Square.  Business difficulties, occasioned by his sudden departure, had presented themselves by dozens.  A cruelly large share of the time which he had hoped to devote to Marguerite had been claimed by duties at his office which it was impossible to neglect.

To his surprise and delight, she was alone in the drawing-room when he entered it.

“We have only a few minutes, George,” she said.  “But Madame Dor has been good to me—­and we can have those few minutes alone.”  She threw her arms round his neck, and whispered eagerly, “Have you done anything to offend Mr. Obenreizer?”

“I!” exclaimed Vendale, in amazement.

“Hush!” she said, “I want to whisper it.  You know the little photograph I have got of you.  This afternoon it happened to be on the chimney-piece.  He took it up and looked at it—­and I saw his face in the glass.  I know you have offended him!  He is merciless; he is revengeful; he is as secret as the grave.  Don’t go with him, George—­don’t go with him!”

“My own love,” returned Vendale, “you are letting your fancy frighten you!  Obenreizer and I were never better friends than we are at this moment.”

Before a word more could be said, the sudden movement of some ponderous body shook the floor of the next room.  The shock was followed by the appearance of Madame Dor.  “Obenreizer” exclaimed this excellent person in a whisper, and plumped down instantly in her regular place by the stove.

Obenreizer came in with a courier’s big strapped over his shoulder.  “Are you ready?” he asked, addressing Vendale.  “Can I take anything for you?  You have no travelling-bag.  I have got one.  Here is the compartment for papers, open at your service.”

“Thank you,” said Vendale.  “I have only one paper of importance with me; and that paper I am bound to take charge of myself.  Here it is,” he added, touching the breast-pocket of his coat, “and here it must remain till we get to Neuchatel.”