“In the meantime,” I said sharply, as he paused for breath, “there is a keen-faced young man who took a room in the inn this morning and who has come to spy upon you, I believe.”
“What is it you say?”
He came to a sudden stop.
I had not meant to deliver my information quite so abruptly, but there was no help for it now, and I repeated the statement, giving him a terse account of my two encounters with the rattish youth, and adding:
“He seemed to be certain that ‘Oliver Saffren’ is an assumed name, and he made a threatening reference to the laws of France.”
The effect upon Keredec was a very distinct pallor. He faced me silently until I had finished, then in a voice grown suddenly husky, asked:
“Do you think he came back to the inn? Is he here now?”
“I do not know.”
“We must learn; I must know that, at once.” And he went to the door.
“Let me go instead,” I suggested.