explain them--I had to come in secret or not at all. But I have done
nothing wrong, nothing dishonorable. And so"--again her eyes challenged
me--"I shall not sail from Bordeaux on the _Espagne_ on Saturday; and
you shall choose for yourself whether you will speak of me to the French
police."

It was not much of an argument, regarded dispassionately; yet it shook
me. With sudden craftiness I resolved to trap her if I could.

"I ought to tell them on the mere chance that they would send you home,"
I grumbled irritably. "You have no business here, you know, helping
people and being suspected and pursued and outrageously annoyed by
fools like me. Yes, and by other fools--and worse," I added with feigned
sulphurousness, indicated Van Blarcom. "Miss Falconer, would you mind
glancing at the third man on the right--the dark man who is staring at
us--and telling me whether or not you ever saw him before you sailed?"

"I am sure I never did," she declared, knitting puzzled brows; "and yet
on the _Re d'Italia_ he insisted that we had met. It frightened me a
little. I wondered whether or not he suspected something. And every time
I see him he watches me in that same way."

I was thawing, despite myself.

"There's one other thing," I ventured, "if you won't think me too
impertinent: Did you ever hear of a man named Franz von Blenheim?"

"No," she said blankly; "I never did. Who is he?"

No birds out of that covert! If this was acting it was marvelous; there
had not been the slightest flicker of confusion in her face.

"Oh, he isn't anybody of importance--just a man," I evaded. "Look here,
Miss Falconer, you'll have to forgive me if you can. You shall stay in
Paris, and I'll be as silent as the grave concerning you; but I'd like
to do more than that. Won't you let me come and call? Really, you
know, I'm not such a duffer as you have cause to think me. After we got
acquainted you might be willing to trust me with this business, whatever
it is. And then, if it's not too desperate, I have friends who could be
of help to you." Such was the sop I threw to conscience, the bargain
I struck between sober reason and the instinct that made me trust her
against all odds. My theories must have been moonshine. Everything was
all right, probably. But for the sake of prudence I ought to keep track
of her. Besides, I wanted to.

Gratitude and consternation, a most becoming mixture, were in her eyes.
She drew back a little.

"Oh, thank yo