The Baron rose from his seat and stretched out his linked hands.
"She is innocent," he pleaded huskily, lifting his eyes to the woman. I could not repress a feeling of profound pity for him.
The man in gray made no reply; instead he turned to me.
"I shall escort you, too, monsieur," he remarked coolly.
"Escort me? Me? What have I got to do with it, I'd like to know?" I cried, springing to my feet. "I wish to explain—to make clear to you—clear. I want you to understand that I stumbled here by the merest chance; that I never spoke to this man in my life until to-night, that I accepted his hospitality purely because I did not wish to offend him, although I had shot late and was in a hurry to get home."
He smiled quietly.
"Please do not worry," he returned, "we know all about you. You are the American. Your house is the old one by the marsh in Pont du Sable. I called on you this afternoon, but you were absent. I am really indebted to you if you do but know it. By following your tracks, monsieur, we stumbled on the nest we have so long been looking for. Permit me to hand you my card. My name is Guinard—Sous Chief of the Paris Police."
I breathed easier—things were clearing up.
"And may I ask, monsieur, how you knew I had gone in the direction of La Poche?" I inquired. That was still a mystery.
"You have a little maid," he replied; "and little maids can sometimes be made to talk."