The man nodded.
“I remember you now,” he said. “So it seems that I was wrong. Annabel was in hiding all the time.”
“Annabel Pellissier is married,” Courtlaw said quietly.
“She’s my wife,” the man muttered.
“It is possible,” Courtlaw said, “that you too were deceived. Where were you married?”
“At the English Embassy in Paris. You will find the certificate in my pocket.”
“And who made the arrangements for you, and sent you there?” Courtlaw asked.
“Hainault, Celeste’s friend. He did everything.”
“I thought so,” Courtlaw said. “You too were deceived. The place to which you went was not the English Embassy, and the whole performance was a fraud. I heard rumours of it in Paris, and the place since then has been closed.”
“But Hainault—assured—me—that the marriage was binding.”