"I'm afraid there must have been something fishy about that--I mean,
some trap must have been laid to catch him. And, it seems, he wasn't
supposed to be in Paris--though I don't see what that can have to do
with the plot, if there is one. He was stopping in the hotel under
another name. No doubt he had some good reason, though. There's nothing
sly about Dundas. If ever there was a plucky chap, he's one. Anyhow,
apparently, he wanted to get hold of a man in Paris he couldn't find,
for he called last evening on a detective named Girard, a rather
well-known fellow in his line, I believe. It almost looks as if Dundas
had made an enemy of him, for he's been giving evidence pretty freely to
the police--lost no time about it, anyhow. Girard says he was following
up the scent, tracking down the person he'd been hired by Dundas to hunt
for, and had at last come to the house where he was lodging, when there
he found Dundas himself, ransacking the room, covered with blood, and
the chap who was wanted, lying dead on the floor, his body hardly cold."
"What time was all that?" enquired Lisa sharply. It was the first
question she had asked.
"Between midnight and one o'clock, I think the papers said," answered
Lord Bob.
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