She sat up, and looked about her. On a table lay her hat, and with the sight of her hat she suddenly remembered—she could not have told you why—M. Popeau.
These people were very kind, but Papa Popeau was her friend, her dear, kind, clever friend. He was leaving Monte Carlo to-night, but late, quite late—she knew that. Why not go to him now, and put her suspicions, her almost certainties, before him?
Before doing so she would make him promise to forget that he had anything to do with the police. She would tell him that if he could not make her that promise then she could not ask him for advice. But she felt sure he would understand.
As for Angus, she did not want to bring him into this terrible business at all. There would be plenty of time to tell him everything afterwards. Everything? No, not everything. She would never, never let him know that poor George Ponting had stayed on that night simply because it was a pleasure to him to meet an English girl.
And never, never would she let anyone know either about that horrible old man, Mr. Vissering! She knew—she had always known—that he had come up to La Solitude on that fatal night because he wanted to see her again, and for no other reason.
She went downstairs and then it was as if things were being made easy for her. The matron, on hearing that she wanted to get into Monte Carlo, told her that the motor was going in there to meet a train. But did she feel really well enough for the little expedition?
And Lily said yes, she was all right now, and that it was on really important business that she wanted to see a friend at the Hôtel de Paris.
CHAPTER XXIX
Hercules Popeau and Captain Stuart were walking up and down in front of the Hôtel de Paris. Stuart held a letter in his hand. It had been left for him late that afternoon, but it had only just been given to him.
He held the letter out to the other man, and M. Popeau read it, slowly and carefully. It was written on the Hôtel de Paris paper: