I had turned it on in more than one
place: and a sudden, brilliant illumination showed me a tall Commissary
of Police, with two little gendarmes looking over his shoulder.
I threw a glance at Maxine, who was still veiled, and was relieved to
see that she had found some means of putting the letter-case out of
sight. Having ascertained this, I sharply enquired in French what in the
devil's name the Commissary of Police meant by walking into an
Englishman's room without being invited; and not only that, but what
under heaven he wanted anyway.
He was far more polite than I was.
"Ten thousand pardons, Monsieur," he apologised. "I knocked twice, but
hearing no answer, entered, thinking that perhaps, after all, the salon
was unoccupied. Important business must be my excuse. I have to request
that Monsieur Dundas will first place in my hands the gift he has
brought from London to Mademoiselle de Renzie."
"I have brought no gift for Mademoiselle de Renzie," I prevaricated
boldly; but the man's knowledge of my name was ominous. If the Paris
police had contrived to learn it already, as well as to find out that I
was the bearer of something for Maxine, it looked as if they knew enough
to play the game in their own way--whatever that might be.
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