My bitter experiences of the past caused considerable doubt to arise within me. I had had warnings that my mysterious enemies would attack me secretly, by some subtle means. Was this Frenchman one of them?
He saw that I treated him with some suspicion, but it evidently amused him. His face beamed with good-nature.
At the bottom of the broad flight of stairs which lead up to the United Service Club and Pall Mall, I halted.
“Now look here, Monsieur Delanne,” I said, much puzzled and mystified by the man’s manner and the curious story he had related, “I have neither desire nor inclination for your company further. You understand?”
“Ah, monsieur, a thousand pardons,” cried the man, raising his hat and bowing with the elegance of the true Parisian. “I have simply spoken the truth. Did you not put to me questions which I have answered? You have said you are engaged to the daughter of my friend Penning-ton. That has interested me.”
“Why?”
“Because the daughter of my friend Penning-ton always interests me,” was his curious reply.
“Is that an intended sarcasm?” I asked resentfully.
“Not in the least, m’sieur,” he said quickly. “I have every admiration for the young lady.”
“Then you know her—eh?”