"My dear girl, what have I done? 'Pon honor, I don't know that I have done anything," the General protested piteously.
"That's just it. It's because you have done nothing, or next to nothing, that your contemptuous reference to 'too many women' seems to me a trifle unkind," replied Sybil, pretending to misunderstand him. "What would have happened to my cousin, when the panel was cut the other night at Beaumanoir House, if it hadn't been for a woman?"
The General accepted the reproof in thoughtful silence, forced to admit to himself that it was not uncalled for. If it had not been for Sybil Hanbury's nerve and courage on the occasion when the bogus detective officer had secreted himself in the Duke's town house, the answer to her question might have had to be written in blood. Her quick apprehension of subtle danger, her determination to sit up and watch, and her cool presence of mind in face of the emergency when it arose, had saved the situation and stamped her as of sterling metal.
"I apologize," he jerked out presently. "I still think there are too many women in the business, but you ain't one of 'em."
"Thank you," Sybil returned, drily. "And, that being so, wouldn't it be a good plan to ask a woman to help you, on the principle of setting a thief to catch a thief, you know?"
The General shot a rather shamefaced glance at the firm mouth and steadfast eyes of this plucky young enthusiast, and thereupon he decided to enlist her as an adviser in the more intricate questions that vexed him. There was the chance that woman's wit would fathom woman's guile, and tell him why Mrs. Talmage Eglinton should want to point the index of suspicion at Ziegler, who was probably her confrère in crime. Woman's wit might even tell him why his Grace the Duke of Beaumanoir, engaged in such a simple ducal pastime as making sheep's-eyes at a pretty American girl, should yet recoil abashed whenever Leonie turned her frankly responsive but puzzled gaze on him. Above all, the course proposed would enable this brave English girl to do what he was beginning to fear he could not do for her—to take care of herself.
"Yes," he said, putting down his cup with a grim smile, "I'll take you on, soon as you've finished your tea. And," he added, fumbling for his cigar-case, "I'll try and not frighten you."
Sybil rose at once, and together they strolled along the terrace to a distance from the chatter round the tea-table, which had drowned their incipient confidences. When they were quite out of earshot Sybil turned and confronted the General, and the lighter tone with which she had "played" him was lacking now.
"Tell me," she said gravely, "why Mrs. Talmage Eglinton is so anxious to kill my poor cousin and spoil that charming idyll."
"Mrs. Talmage Eglinton!" stammered the General. "How on earth did you know that?"