Hugh stood there without luggage, and with only about thirty pounds in his pocket.
Suddenly the man who had driven him looked him curiously in the face, and said:
“Ah! I know you are wondering what your lady friend in Monte Carlo will think. Well, I can tell you this. She already knows that you have escaped, and she had been told to write to you in secret at the Poste Restante at Brussels.”
Hugh started.
“Who has told her? Surely she knows nothing of the affair at the Villa Amette?”
“She will not be told that. But she has been told that you are going to Brussels, and that in future your name is Monsieur Godfrey Brown.”
“But why have all these elaborate arrangements been made for my security?” Hugh demanded, more than ever nonplussed.
“It is useless to take one precaution unless the whole are taken,” laughed the sphinx-like fellow whose cheerful banter had so successfully passed them through the customs barrier.
Then, swallowing his coffee, he wished Hugh, “buon viaggio” and was about to depart, when Hugh said:
“Look here. Is it quite impossible for you to give me any inkling concerning this astounding affair? I know that some unknown friend, or friends, are looking after my welfare. But why? To whom am I indebted for all this? Who has warned Miss Ranscomb and told her of my alias and my journey to Brussels?”