"I can't go as far as that—yet. There's no evidence against them—not even circumstantial. There's no crime in a flirtation between a man and woman, both of the Midi, thrown together in a foreign land. I meant to spring this on you only when or if I had cause to be sure. Up to date, my indoors man at Rudin's—that's the French place in Twelfth Street where they meet—hasn't been able to overhear a word between the two, though he speaks French. He's acting as a waiter there now. He has instructions to ring me up if he gets onto anything queer. And I always leave word at home and the office where I'm going to be."
This conversation, following Lyda's letter, had keyed up Manners' nerves. He started as rather a sharp knock sounded on the door.
It was Simone. She was very neat and chic, and led Beatty, whose bored look suggested that he had been denied his proper share of exercise.
"Monsieur le Capitaine!" she purred; and bowed discreetly to the detective. "Togo says Monsieur has asked for me the moment I am home. I come. But the dog——"
"Never mind the dog!" Sanders caught the word from Jack. "We've some questions to ask you, Mademoiselle. Please stay where you are."
His tone was rough, and he had put on a professional, hectoring air. There had been no time to arrange a plan of action, but Manners guessed what was in Sanders' mind. He meant to try scaring Simone; and he wanted to do it off his own bat. Jack trusted him, and was willing to keep out of the business. Though the Frenchwoman's black eyes appealed to him—as her mistress's relative—against the rude stranger, he sat still and lit a cigarette.
CHAPTER XX
THE THIRD DEGREE
"To begin with, where's the Duchess?"
"At a rehearsal, Monsieur, of an entertainment Madame van Esten has got up. Mademoiselle Pavoya will——"