"The fellow came up behind me," he explained, "while I was walking to the door. Anne, what a brick you are!"
He held out his hand. She took it, laughing frankly.
"My dear Julien," she exclaimed, "what else could any one do? I heard the row and,—shall I admit it?—peeped through the keyhole. I couldn't see anything, so I opened the door softly and heard something of what was going on. This old revolver was lying on your dressing-table, but I had an awful hunt for the cartridges. Whoever were those men?"
Julien smiled.
"When I tell you," he said, "you will think that I am mad. Yet this is the truth. The man with whom you talked was Prince von Falkenberg."
"What, the German Minister?"
Julien nodded.
"It seems incredible, doesn't it? Falkenberg is a man possessed of one idea—to upset the relations between France and England. For that purpose he has been paying secret visits to Paris for the last year. He has corrupted the Press here. He has wormed his way into the confidence of one or two of the Ministers. The thing is a perfect mania with him. He has taken it into his head that the articles which Kendricks has made me promise to write, and the first one of which appeared in Le Grand Journal yesterday—the one you read at dinner-time—are going to be exploited as an exposure of his methods. For that reason he came ostensibly to confirm an offer which he made me some time ago. When I refused, he offered me a large sum of money—anything to get rid of me and to stop my writing these articles. Of course I declined, and there you are."
Lady Anne began to laugh once more.
"Well," she said, "I suppose I'm not dreaming. It sounds like a page out of an opera-bouffe. That man who was here, whom I threatened to shoot, was really Prince Falkenberg?"