“I denied nothing,” said I. “I invited you to look for yourself. The wood is equally at your disposal. I regret—or, rather I do not regret—to be unable to assist you.”
Then, to my amazement, he said: “You, too, are in this affair, I presume. You will find it serious.”
“What affair? Monsieur is enigmatical and anything but courteous.”
“You are insulting, and my friends will ask you to-morrow to explain your conduct. I think you will further regret your connection with this matter.”
“With what matter?” I broke in. “This passes endurance.”
“I fancy you need no explanation. I presume that at least you will not hesitate to inform me of your name.”
As he spoke his coachman called out to him to hold his horse for a moment, and before I could answer, he turned aside toward the man. I followed him, took out my card-case, and said as I gave him a card, “This will sufficiently inform you who and what I am.”
As I spoke he in turn gave me his card, saying: “I am the Count le Moyne. I shall have the honor to ask through my friends for an explanation.”
He was evidently somewhat cooler. As he spoke I knew his name as that of a recently appointed under-secretary of the Foreign Office. I had never before seen him. As we parted I said: