me an ill-turn."

"His name?"

"I do not know his name; that is just what I wanted to find out I might
have found his tailor's name on the coat, and then have discovered for
whom the coat was made."

"You are aware that the proprietor of the hotel did not insert the
forged advertisement?"

"So he says."

"You doubt his word? You insult France in one of her citizens!"

Maitland apologized.

"Then whom do you suspect of inserting the advertisement, as you deny
having done it yourself, for some purpose which does not appear?"

"I believe the owner of the coat put in the advertisement."

"That is absurd. What had he to gain by it?"

"To remove me from London, where he is probably conspiring against me at
this moment."

"Buchanan, you trifle with Justice!"

"I have told you that my name is not Buchanan."

"Then why did you forge that name in the hotel book?"

"I wrote it in the hurry and excitement of the moment; it was
incorrect."

"Why did you lie?" (_Pourquoi avez vous menti?_)

Maitland made an irritable movement

"You threaten Justice. Your attitude is deplorable. You are consigned
_au secret_, and will have an opportunity of revising your situation,
and replying more fully to the inquiries of Justice."

So ended Maitland's first and, happily, sole interview with a Juge
d'Instruction. Lord Walter Brixton, his old St Gatien's pupil, returned
from the country on the very day of Maitland's examination. An interview
(during which Lord Walter laughed unfeelingly) with his old coach
was not refused to the _attache_, and, in a few hours, after some
formalities had been complied with, Maitland was a free man. His _pieces
justificatives_, his letters, cards, and return ticket to Charing Cross,
were returned to him intact.

But Maitland determined to sacrifice the privileges of the last-named
document.

"I am going straight to Constantinople and the Greek Islands," he
wrote to Barton. "Do you know, I don't like Paris. My attempt at an
investigation has not been a success. I have endured considerable
discomfort, and I fear my case will get into the _Figaro_, and there
will be dozens of 'social leaders' and 'descriptive headers' about me in
all the penny papers."

Then Maitland gave his banker's address at Constantinople, relinquished
the quest of Margaret, and for a while, as the Sagas say, "is out of the
story."

CHAPTER XI.--The Night of Adventures.

A cold March wind whistled and yelled ro