Mme. Estelle touched his arm and looked earnestly into his face.
“Because,” she said slowly, “it was necessary to ensure that you should see Lady Kathleen to-night.”
“To see Lady Kathleen to-night,” cried Westerham. “When and where? Not here, surely?”
“No,” answered Madame, with a little smile, “not here, indeed.
“Events,” she went on, “have taken a very sudden and curious turn. Yesterday, I tell you frankly, your own life was in considerable danger. You may think it very cold-blooded and horrible of me to say such a thing, but I know that Melun had practically come to the conclusion that you must be put out of the way in order to save trouble.
“But I was averse to that, and, thanks to the plan I suggested, it was found unnecessary to do you any harm.”
“But why,” urged Westerham, “was it found necessary to play all these tricks with my clothes? Why, they must have been made from extremely careful measurements. I should say they had been modelled on one of my own suits. And the boots are the strangest part of all—they fit me like gloves.”
“It was intended they should,” said Mme. Estelle. “And be thankful that they do, for though it is impossible for me to explain, they have actually saved you from death. I assure you that there is no man this afternoon more jealous of your safety than Melun.”
“And Lady Kathleen?”
“Lady Kathleen,” said Mme. Estelle, gravely, “is still in great danger—but it is a danger of a different kind.”