“Why should I admit what is not the truth?” he asked. “What motive could I have to follow you—a perfect stranger?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I’m a bit suspicious,” I declared, still speaking in French. “Of late there was a desperate attempt upon my life.”
“By whom?” he inquired quickly. “Please tell me, Monsieur Biddulph; I am greatly interested in this.”
“Then you know my name?” I exclaimed, surprised.
“Certainly.”
“Why are you interested in me?”
“I may now have a motive,” was his calm yet mysterious reply. “Tell me in what manner an attempt has been made upon you?”
At first I hesitated, then, after a second’s reflection, I explained the situation in a few words.
“Ah! Of course, I quite see that monsieur’s mind must be filled by suspicion,” he responded; “yet I regret if I have been the cause of any annoyance. By the way, how long have you known Monsieur Penning-ton?”