"I take it that you are Monsieur Clifford?" he interrogated accusingly, keeping his smouldering black eyes fixed on Roger's face, while with his right hand he brought a notebook out of his pocket.
"Certainly my name is Clifford, but perhaps you will be good enough to inform me why you——"
"That can wait. You are English, monsieur?"
"Naturally. And I refuse to answer another question until you tell me how in thunder you come to be here," replied Roger, rapidly losing his temper.
"English, British subject," muttered the officer, writing busily with a stump of a pencil and ignoring utterly Roger's statement. "Occupation, monsieur?"
"Who sent for you to come here?" demanded Roger, more and more irate.
The question had an unexpected reply.
"C'était moi, messieurs, qui viens de vous téléphoner. Moi je suis Lady Clifford."
The voice, metallic and defiant, rang out from the door leading into the right-hand bedroom. The officer stared in surprise, while Roger wheeled with a brusque movement of incredulity to behold Thérèse facing them.
"You telephoned them?" he repeated, hardly able to believe his ears.