I see m'sieur possesses forethought," he said with a smile. "Of
course, they can easily hire an automobile and run to Namur, Ghent, or
Antwerp--or even to one or other of the frontiers. But M'sieur Fremy is
in touch with all persons who have motor-cars for hire. If they attempted
to leave by car when once their descriptions are circulated, we should
know in half an hour, while to cross the frontier by car would be
impossible." Then, turning to the inspector, he said, "You will see that
precautions are immediately taken that if they are here they cannot
leave."

"The matter is in my hands, m'sieur," answered the great detective
simply.

"Then m'sieur refuses to satisfy me as to the exact identity of Marie
Bracq?" I asked Van Huffel in my most persuasive tone.

"A thousand regrets, m'sieur, but as I have already explained, I am
compelled to regard the secret entrusted to me."

"I take it that her real name is not Marie Bracq?" I said, looking him in
the face.

"You are correct. It is not."

"Is she a Belgian subject?" I asked.

"No, m'sieur, the lady is not."

"You said that a great sensation would be caused if the press knew the
truth?"

"Yes. I ask you to do me the favour, and promise me absolute secrecy in
this matter. If we are to be successful in the arrest of these
individuals, then the press must know nothing--not a syllable. Do I have
your promise, M'sieur Royle?"

"If you wish," I answered.

"And we on our part will assist you to clear this lady who is to be your
wife--but upon one condition."

"And that is what?" I asked.

"That you do not seek to inquire into the real identity of the poor young
lady who has lost her life--the lady known to you and others as Marie
Bracq," he said, looking straight into my eyes very seriously.

CHAPTER XXVI.

SHOWS EXPERT METHODS.

It being the luncheon hour, Fremy and myself ate our meal at the highly
popular restaurant, the Taverne Joseph, close to the Bourse, where the
cooking is, perhaps, the best in Brussels and where the cosmopolitan, who
knows where to eat, usually makes for when in the Belgian capital.

After our coffee, cigarettes, and a "triple-sec" each, we strolled round
to the General Post Office. As we approached that long flight of granite
steps I knew so well, a poor-looking, ill-dressed man with the pinch of
poverty upon his face, and his coat buttoned tightly against the cold,
edged up to my companion on the pavement and whispered