"You are English," she went on. "You fought in the War for Belgium's deliverance. The halo of heroism still rests around your head. You can do what others dared not. Listen. This telegram is from my brother. He has escaped from prison in Antwerp. Never mind the charge. The police search for him everywhere, but he promises that he will reach my flat at ten o'clock to-night."
"In disguise?"
"He comes as the victim of a motor accident, in an ambulance car, his face bandaged. But here—how can I keep him here! The Chief of the Police is amongst my intimates. There are people coming and going all day."
"You have a suggestion?" I ventured.
"Yes," she answered. "I was at the Café des Quatres Etoiles when you did your imitations the other night. You have a wonderful gift of making up. My cousin has undertaken to hide Albert at the chateau, if we can get him there. Good! You must come here, make up my brother, say, to imitate your friend Monsieur Cotton, whom he is not unlike. Then you drive out to the chateau quite openly to one of my cousin's supper parties. Albert will disappear and all will be well."
"And when is this to be?" I asked.
"To-night," she answered. "You consent?"
She leaned towards me. I hesitated merely out of policy. Her lips almost touched my cheek.
"You have perhaps a price, a reward to ask?" she murmured.
I knew then that I was in love with Rose, if I had ever doubted it. I have always flattered myself that I displayed great presence of mind.