Martin, though surprised, almost startled, by these preliminaries, answered promptly. The sergeant nodded to one of his aides.
“Take this gentleman upstairs,” he said.
“Is there any mistake?” inquired Martin. “I have come here to visit Mrs. Saumarez.”
“No mistake,” said the sergeant. “Follow that man, monsieur.”
Assured now that some dramatic and wholly unexpected development had taken place, Martin tried to gather his wits as he mounted to the first floor. There, in a shuttered drawing-room, he confronted a shrewd-looking man in mufti, to whom his guide handed a written slip sent by the sergeant. Evidently, this was an official of some importance.
“Shall I speak English, Captain Grant?” he said, thrusting aside a pile of documents and clearing a space on the table at which he was busy.
“Well,” said Martin, smiling, “I imagine that your English is better than my French.”
He sat on a chair indicated by the Frenchman. He put no questions. He guessed he was in the presence of a tragedy.
“Is Mrs. Saumarez a friend of yours?” began the stranger.