“Why, look, Owen! Do you see that man with the short dark overcoat standing under the lamp over there? I’ve seen him several times to-day. Do you know, he seems to be watching us!”
“Watching you!” cried her father, starting to his feet and joining us. The long wooden sun-shutters were closed, so, on opening the windows which led to the balcony we could see between the slats without being observed from outside.
I looked at the spot indicated by my wife, and then saw on the other side of the way a youngish-looking man idly smoking a cigarette and gazing in the direction of the Place de la Concorde, as though expecting some one.
I could not distinguish his features, yet I saw that he wore brown boots, and that the cut of his clothes and the shape of his hat were English.
“Where have you seen him before?” I asked of her.
“I first met him when I came out of Lentheric’s this morning. Then, again, when we lunched at the Volnay he was standing at the corner of the Rue de la Paix and the Rue Daunou. He followed us in the Rue Royale later on.”
“And now he seems to have mounted guard outside, eh?” I remarked, somewhat puzzled. “Why did you not tell me this before?”
“I did not wish to cause you any anxiety, Owen,” was her simple reply, while her father asked—
“Do you know the fellow? Ever seen him before, Sylvia?”
“Never in my life,” she declared. “It’s rather curious, isn’t it?”