The man least concealed was the dark-faced one with the evil eye. The other man was Jaeger, the detective.
“But they are not together,” she assured herself. “Jaeger is watching the other, and the dark one is watching me.”
Even as she said this, a third person came into view.
Instantly, by his slow stride, his military bearing, she recognized the man.
“It is he!” She was thrown into a state of tumult. “It is my Frenchman.”
But what was this? He was on the opposite side of the street, yet he did not cross over, nor so much as glance that way. He marched straight on.
She wanted to rush down the stairs and call to him; yet she dared not, for were not those sinister figures lurking there?
To make matters worse, the dark-faced one took to following the Frenchman. Darting from shadow to shadow, he obviously believed himself unobserved. False security. Jaeger was on his trail.
“What does it all mean?” Jeanne asked herself. “Is this little Frenchman after all but a tool of the police? Does he hope to trap me and secure the pearls—which I do not have? Or is he with that evil one with the desperate eyes? Or is it true that he came but now from France and bears a message for me?”
Since she could answer none of these questions, she left her room, looked to the fastening of the outer door, then took a seat by the fire. There for a long time she tried to read her fortune in the flames, but succeeded in seeing only a flaming curtain that was not consumed.