It was now dark. There was no sign of my friend the Spanish police agent. He had disappeared!
I stood upon the pavement full of anxiety and bewilderment.
What could have happened to him?
CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH
MADEMOISELLE JACQUELOT
I returned to my rather barely-furnished room at the Hôtel du Midi which overlooked the Place outside the station in the suburb across the river, and sank into a chair to reflect.
The concierge—a lad who wore the concierge’s cap—the concierge being off duty at his evening meal—informed me that my friend had not returned. He seemed an alert French lad of that type so frequently seen in Continental hotels.
Señor Rivero had disappeared! For an hour I waited seated alone in my room reflecting deeply. My sole desire and fixed object was to solve the enigma of Gabrielle Tennison’s unfortunate mental state and to bring to justice those unscrupulous blackguards responsible for it. As I sat there her pale beautiful face arose before me—the wonderful countenance of the girl who had, in such a strange and indescribable manner, taken possession of my soul. To analyse my feelings towards her was impossible. I put to myself the query why I loved her, but I was utterly unable to answer it.