Then, I had to keep my promise to Miss Forrest. But I had thought of a way in which, I hoped, that promise—fulfilled as I meant to fulfil it—might help rather than injure me. I had not lain awake all night for nothing.
I went to the office of the Chief of Police, who is a gentleman and a patron of the theatre—when he can spare time from his work. I had met him, and had reason to know that he admired my acting.
His first words were of congratulation upon my success in the new play; and he was as cordial, as complimentary, as if he had never heard of that scene at the Élysée Palace Hotel, about which of course he knew everything—so far as his subordinate could report.
“Are you surprised to see me, Monsieur?” I asked.
“A great delight is always more or less of a surprise in this work-a-day world,” he gallantly replied.
“But you can guess what has brought me?”
“Would that I could think it was only to give me a box at the theatre this evening.”
“It is partly that,” I laughed. “Partly for the pleasure of seeing you, of course. And partly—you know already, since you know everything, that I am a friend of Mr. Dundas, the young Englishman accused of a murder which he could not possibly have committed.”
“Could not possibly have committed? Is that merely your opinion as a loyal friend, or have you come to make a communication to me?”
“For that—and to offer you the stage-box for to-night.”