o end in a nasty mess for all
concerned. There's a train goes to Paris to-morrow morning at eleven.
You just take it, sir, and forget this business, and you'll thank me all
your life."

CHAPTER XV

GEORGES THE CHAUFFEUR

Upon descending to the courtyard, I took a seat on a bench beneath a
vine-covered trellis. To stop here for a time, smoking, would seem a
natural proceeding, and while I held such a post of recognizance nothing
overt could transpire in the environs without my taking note of the
fact. Enough had developed already, though, heaven was witness! I lit a
cigarette and prepared for a resume.

Like a sleuth noting salient points, I glanced round the rectangular
court. At my right, off the gallery, was Miss Falconer's room shrouded
in darkness; at the left, up another flight of stairs, my own uninviting
domain. The quarters of Van Blarcom and his uniformed friends opened
from the gallery above the street passage, facing the main portion of
the inn which sheltered the kitchen and _salle a manger_. Such was the
simple, homely stage-setting. What of the play?

Bleau, I now felt tolerably sure, was merely a mile-stone on the route
of Miss Falconer. Next morning, at sunrise probably, she would resume
her journey for parts unknown. Would they arrest her before she left
the inn or merely follow her? The latter, doubtless, since they asserted
that she was on her way to get the papers that they wanted for France.

Upstairs in the room where Van Blarcom and I had held our conference
the shutters had been reopened. There was just one light to be seen, a
glowing point, which was obviously the tip of a cigar. If I was keeping
vigil below, from above he returned the compliment; nor did he mean
that I should hold any secret colloquy with the girl that night. I
swore softly, but earnestly. Considering his rather decent attitude,
his efforts from the very first to enlighten me as to the dangers I was
running, it was odd that my detestation of the man was so thoroughly
ingrained and so profound.

The mystery of the gray car had been solved with a vengeance. Instead of
being freighted with accomplices, as I had at first thought possible,
it had carried the representatives of justice, in the persons of three
officers and my secret-service friend. A queer conjunction, that; but
then, my ignorance of French methods was abysmal. Perhaps this was the
usual mode of doing things in time of war.

Van Blarcom's explanation, t