"I do not understand at all," she said. "You mean to tell me, then, that you know nothing of Louis except as a maître d'hôtel, that you were a chance visitor to Paris this week?"
"Absolutely," I answered.
Suddenly a thought seemed to occur to her. She drew away from me. In her eyes I seemed to see reflected the tragedy of those few moments in the Café des Deux Épingles.
"How can I believe you?" she exclaimed. "Remember that I saw you strike that man! It was horrible! I have never seen anything like it! You were like a wild animal! They tell me that he was very badly hurt. Is it true?"
"I believe so," I answered. "I am afraid that I hope so."
"And you," she continued, "go free! You have not even the air of one who flies for his life. Yet you tell me that you are not one of those—those—"
"Those what?" I asked eagerly.
"Those who frequent the Café des Deux Épingles," she said slowly,—"those who take advantage of the peculiar protection which some of those behind the scenes there are able to extend to their friends."
I shook my head.
"I know nothing of the place beyond that brief visit," I answered. "I know nothing of Louis except as a maître d'hôtel in my favorite restaurant. I know nothing of the people who frequent the Café des Deux Épingles except those I saw there that night. You," I added, "were one of them. I can assure you that when I went with Louis to that place I had not the slightest idea that I should meet the person whom I did meet."