“The birds are in their cage, Sir Frank,” he reported as soon as he recognized the specialist. “I’ve been hanging about here since the early morning and I’ve arranged with the management that they shan’t be allowed to go out by any other way.”
Tarleton, in reply, explained why he had asked for a gendarme to be posted across the way. “I don’t want them to know that you’re a police officer, of course; but I may want them to know that they are being watched by the police.”
He had hardly finished speaking when the representative of French law appeared on the scene, a truly imposing figure with a huge moustache, who began pacing the pavement opposite like a man who was not to be trifled with.
The consultant asked if Mrs. Weathered had taken a private sitting-room and finding that she had, sent up his card, on which he had scribbled the words “Official Confidential.” When he was handing it into the office, however, the detective followed him to make a correction.
“She’s not staying here under her own name. She has taken the name of Neobard.”
He had to wait some minutes for a response. When at length he was taken upstairs and shown into the room he found, as he had expected, Miss Neobard alone.
“My mother asks you to excuse her, Sir Frank. She is not yet well enough to see anyone on business. May I ask the meaning of those words on your card?”
Sarah spoke with the utmost coolness. If she was frightened she had evidently resolved to hide her fright under a mask of defiance. Tarleton’s manner was one of entire friendliness.
“They mean that although I have come to see Mrs. Weathered as a Government official, on official business, our interview will be strictly confidential. I shall not make use of any information she may give me, without her consent.”
The daughter looked at him doubtfully.