Ned fell flat on his back. A formless suspicion, that had rankled in him like an unextracted thorn ever since he had received that prick in the shoulder, suddenly revealed itself a definite shape.
After a minute or two he raised his head from the pillow and looked cautiously around.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, and dropped it again.
Husband and wife were gone, the room door was closed, and at his bed-side, monkey on wrist, sat the strange lady who had been the very active cause of his discomfiture.
“D’Eon, did you say?” he murmured.
“Veritably,” she replied serenely.
“Oh! the——”
“Exactly: the Chevalière Charlotte-Genevieve-Louise-Augusta-Andrée-Timothée d’Eon de Beaumont.”
“The chevalière!” said Ned faintly.
“Or chevalier,” she answered, with a very pleasant laugh.