"P.S.—You will be back in an hour. Disturb no one. It is possible that I may ask you to keep secret what I have to say."
"This note," I remarked, tapping it with my forefinger, "was taken in to Isobel by Mrs. Burdett at a quarter to eight. It was brought, she said, by a respectable middle-aged woman, with whom Isobel left the place soon after eight. We heard of this an hour later. At eleven o'clock we began the search for Monsieur Feurgéres. At three, Allan discovered that he had left the Savoy Hotel at ten for St. Petersburg. Since then we have sent seven telegrams, the delivery of which is very problematical—and we have heard—nothing!"
Allan laid his hand gently upon my shoulder.
"We may get a reply from Feurgéres at any moment," he said, "but there will be no news of Isobel. That note is a forgery, Arnold."
"I am afraid it is," I admitted. "Feurgéres was a man of his word. He would never have sent for Isobel."
"Then she is lost to us," Arthur groaned.
I caught up my hat and coat.
"Not yet," I said. "I will go and see what Lady Delahaye has to say about this. It can do no harm, at any rate."
"Shall I come?" Arthur asked, half rising from his chair.
"I would rather go alone," I answered.