"Of course. I quite understand the annoyance caused to mademoiselle. It is sufficient to have one's friend murdered in that mysterious manner, without being pestered by mysterious individuals who mask themselves and prophesy all sorts of unpleasant things if their orders are not obeyed. Did you promise to return to London?"
"I said I would consider the advisability of doing so."
"You are diplomatic—eh?" he said, with a laugh. "It is unfortunate that this fellow has slipped through our fingers so cleverly—very unfortunate!"
"But if he is known to you, there will surely not be much difficulty in rediscovering him."
"Ah! that's just the question, you see. We are not absolutely certain as to his identity." Then after a slight pause, he glanced at me and asked suddenly: "Mademoiselle has a friend—or had a friend—named Cameron—a Monsieur Ernest Cameron? Is that so?"
I think I must have blushed beneath the piece of black velvet which hid my cheeks.
"That is correct," I stammered. "Why?"
"The reason is unimportant," he answered carelessly. "The fact is written in the papers concerning the case, and we like always to verify facts in such a case as this—that's all."
"But he has no connection with this tragic business!" I hastened to declare. "I haven't spoken to him for nearly two years—we have been apart for quite that time."
"Of course," said the man reassuringly; "the fact has nothing to do with the matter. I merely referred to it in order to obtain confirmation of our reports. You mentioned something of a proposed yachting cruise. What did this mysterious individual say regarding that?"