forthcoming will--well,greatly astonish you."
"But surely Mademoiselle is not a criminal!" I cried, staring at him indismay.
"Wait and hear the evidence against her."
"I will not believe it."
"Ah! because you are enamoured of her--eh, Monsieur Kemball?" exclaimedthe great detective, with a shrewd twinkle in his large brown eyes. "Aman is always loath to believe that his well-beloved can do wrong._Bien_! I urge you to wait and see what the revelations bring forth--tocarefully weigh over the hideous story before giving further thought toher."
"I need no advice. Monsieur," I protested angrily. "If you makeallegations, you should surely tell me their nature."
"That is for you to discover," he answered, with a crafty smile. "Youhave refused to assist me; therefore I, in turn, refuse to satisfy yourcuriosity."
"You have arrested me because I happen to be on friendly terms with thisman and his daughter. Therefore surely I may be told the offencealleged against them," I protested in anger.
"The fact you have revealed--namely, that Shaw and Melvill Arnold werefriends--is quite sufficient to prove what I really suspected. Theman's identity is made entirely plain, even though you refused to giveme information."
"They are my friends," I remarked resentfully.
"Perhaps they will be so no longer when you know the actual truthconcerning them," he said, smiling grimly.
"And what is this terrible charge against them, pray?"
"Have I not already told you that you will know quite soon enough?" wasthe prompt reply of the renowned detective, whose name was as ahousehold word in France; and his two companions smiled.
The telephone bell rang, and one of them took up the receiver andlistened.
Then he handed it to Tramu, who, from his words, I gathered, wasspeaking with the commissary of police at the Gare du Lyon, in Paris,asking that an incoming train should be carefully watched.
"Thank you. Advise me as soon as it arrives," he added, and placing thereceiver down, he rang off.
Again he returned to the attack, endeavouring to discover from me wherein England Shaw had hidden himself. But I was just as evasive as he washimself. I was fighting for the woman I loved. I told him vaguely thatthey lived in the North of England in order to mislead him, but Ideclared I did not know their actual place of residence.
But he only smiled incredulously, replying--
"Monsieur is enamoured of Mademoiselle. I have watched you both for twodays past, and I know that you are aware of her address in England."
This man had actually been watching us, while we had been allunconscious of espionage! Fierce anger again rose within me. Iadmitted to myself that I had acted foolishly in associating with a manwhom I knew to be a fugitive from justice; but it certainly neveroccurred to me that I might be subjected to such an ordeal as that I wasundergoing.
Alternatively threatening, coaxing, warning, and gesticulating, Tramu, apast-master in the art of interrogation, cross-examined me until thefirst rose-flush of dawn showed through the window. But he obtainednothing more from me. I told him frankly that, as he refused to give meany information, I, on my part, would remain dumb.
His annoyance was apparent. He had expected me to meekly relate all Iknew, but instead he found that I could be as evasive in my answers ashe was clever in putting his questions. In turn quite half a dozenpolice officials entered the room and regarded me with considerablecuriosity, until in anger I cried--
"This action of yours, Monsieur Tramu, is disgraceful! I know this isyour abominable French police system, but I demand that word of myarrest be sent to the British Consul, with whom I shall lodgecomplaint."
"My dear m'sieur," laughed the man with the tiny red button in hislapel, "that will be quite unnecessary. I think at this late hour wemay now! dispense with your further presence. You are free to go;" andaddressing a man in uniform, he added, "Bring in the chauffeur."
I turned upon my heel and left the room, but as I went along thecorridor I saw at the farther end Harris seated between two uniformedofficers.
Surely they would obtain no information from him, for he had only beenengaged for the tour, and knew nothing further of Harvey Shaw or of Astaexcept--ah! he might know their address at Lydford!
So I shouted along the corridor to him:
"Harris! Don't tell them Mr Shaw's address in England, whatever youdo."
"Right you are, sir," he replied cheerily. "This is a funny job, ain'tit, sir? They arrested me in bed."
"Where's Mr Shaw?"
"Don't know, sir. I suppose he and Miss Asta are in here somewhere,"was his reply, as they ushered him into the room where the great Tramuawaited him.
On my return to the hotel the sleepy night-porter admitted me.
No; he had seen nothing of Monsieur Shaw or of Mademoiselle.
Hastily I ascended the stairs to our suite of apartments, but they werenot there. The beds had not been slept in, but their baggage had beenpiled up--evidently by the police, in readiness for removal andexamination. The drawers and wardrobes had evidently been searchedafter their arrest, for the rooms were in great disorder.
In my own room, during my absence, everything had been turnedtopsy-turvy. The lock of my steel dispatch-box had been broken and itscontents turned out upon the bed. In France, when the police make adomiciliary visit, they certainly do it most thoroughly.
Was it possible that in examining the effects of Shaw and Asta thepolice had ascertained the address of their hiding-place in England?
I stood in the centre of the room gazing at the heap of papers andletters upon the bed, apprehensive and bewildered.
Returning below, I induced the big Swiss night-porter to rouse themanager; and some ten minutes later the latter came to me in trousersand coat, evidently not in a very good-humour at being disturbed.
He seemed surprised to see me there, and I said with a laugh--
"I suppose you believed I had been arrested?"
"Well," he replied, "the police took you away."
"For interrogation only," I replied. "But I am in search of myfriends."
"And the police are in search of them also, I believe," he repliedabruptly. "It does no good to the reputation of the hotel to have suchvisitors, m'sieur."
"Then they have not been arrested!" I cried in delight.
"No. Mademoiselle, I believe, must have recognised the inspector of theSurete from Paris as she was coming downstairs. She rushed back andtold her father, and hastily seizing her dressing-case, while he took asmall bag, they both descended the service stairs and made their exit bythe back premises. There was a door below which is always kept locked,but Monsieur Shaw had somehow provided himself with a key in case ofemergency, for we found it in the lock. When the police, afterarresting you, went upstairs to take the pair, they found they hadalready flown. They must have rushed down to the station and caught theParis night express, which was due just about the time they would arrivethere."
"And the police are furious," I said. "They must be."
"They have, I believe, just missed a most important, capture."
"What was the charge against them?" I inquired "Ah, they would not tellme," was his reply. "They seemed to be acting with great caution andsecrecy. They made a careful examination of everything, and only leftabout three-quarters of an hour ago."
And with that I was compelled to remain satisfied.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
THE SECRET OF HARVEY SHAW.
For three days I remained in Aix, awaiting some news or message from thefugitives--but none came.
Tramu called and saw me twice, evidently astounded at the channel ofescape which Shaw had so cunningly prepared. He had, no doubt, obtainedan impression of one of the servants' master keys, and had one cut tofit the locked door which prevented visitors from passing out by anyother way save by the front hall. He had anticipated that flight mightbe necessary, and the fact that he had prepared for it showed that hewas both
cunning and fearless.
Asta's injunctions to me to say nothing showed plainly that theyintended still to keep their hiding-place a secret. And if Shaw was theadventurer I believed, it was not likely that either he or she wouldcarry anything by which to reveal their more respectable identity.
So at length, full of grave apprehensions, I left Aix, sickened by itsmusic and summer gaiety, and travelled home, halting one night at theGrand in Paris, and duly arrived at the Cecil in London. There I founda batch of letters sent on to me from Upton End, and among them was aformal letter from a firm of solicitors called Napier and Norman, 129,Bedford Row, W.C., stating that they were acting for the late Mr GuyNicholson of Titmarsh Court, and asking me to call upon them withoutdelay.
Exercising caution lest