"I'm so glad to see you," he rattled on. "Don't you remember our being introduced, at dinner one night, in Paris. I'm delighted to meet you again. On your way down-town, I suppose?" His remark seemed a question. She answered it at once. "Yes, a little shopping to do, and then I thought of stopping at the house of some friends—the United States Minister," she added, by way of explanation.
The stranger bowed. "May I have the pleasure of accompanying you?" he asked. "I also am going in that direction."
Grace assented, and they went out together. At the door the man summoned a cab. "It is safer," he whispered. "We may be observed."
Once inside the cab, which was a closed one, the young man began to ply Grace with questions. "I am one of Monsieur Lefevre's men," he told her, noting her momentary hesitation. "Be quite frank, please, and tell me everything."
When she had finished her story, he sat in silence for a long time. Then he turned to her with a question which made her think he had suddenly lost his mind. "Has Dr. Hartmann a phonograph in the house?" he inquired.
"A phonograph?" she looked at him curiously.
"Yes—yes." His voice betrayed his excitement. "We must send a message to Mr. Duvall. Your windows overlook the room where he is confined. He may hear it. It is the only way."
"Yes," she said, after a moment's thought. "There is a phonograph in the library—a small one. It is seldom used. But Dr. Hartmann—"
"Listen to me," he interrupted, "and do exactly as I say. Pretend to be ill. Ask Dr. Hartmann's permission to have the instrument moved to your room. Then play the records which I am about to get for you."
She gazed at him, scarcely understanding. "But—" she began.