“Sonia dear,” he said quietly, turning to his daughter, “will you leave me for a few moments? I must see what this gentleman wants.”
The girl followed Felix out somewhat reluctantly, when, a few seconds later, a short, middle-aged Frenchman, with pointed grey beard and wearing gold pince-nez, was ushered in.
Philip Poland started and instantly went pale at sight of his visitor.
“I need no introduction, m’sieur. You recognize me, I see,” remarked the stranger, in French.
“Yes,” was the other’s reply. “You are Henri Guertin, chief inspector of the sûreté of Paris. We have met before—once.”
“And you are no doubt aware of the reason of my visit?”
“I can guess,” replied the unhappy man. “You are here to arrest me—I know. I——”
The renowned detective—one of the greatest criminal investigators in Europe—glanced quickly at the closed door, and, dropping his voice, said—
“I am here, not to arrest you, M’sieur Poland—but to afford you an opportunity of escape.”
“Of escape!” gasped the other, his drawn countenance blanched to the lips.