“Then my information has been of some little use to you—eh?”
“Of enormous use, Señor Garfield! You will no doubt receive an official letter of thanks from the Ministry of the Interior,” he replied. “But we must act very warily. Despujol will not risk remaining here for long. Besides, some friend may telegraph to him that the police have been to the Rue de Lalande!”
Once more it was upon the tip of my tongue to explain the manner in which I had become implicated in the evil deeds of Oswald De Gex and his sycophants, when of a sudden he added:
“You must really forgive me, Señor Garfield, but you are an entire mystery to me. You have never been frank with me—never once!”
“I have been as frank as I dared,” I replied. “I tell you that I am here to watch and to strive to elucidate a great plot—one which concerns myself and the woman I love. We have both been victims of a vile and desperate conspiracy.”
“And whom do you suspect?”
“Oswald De Gex.”
“With what motive?” he asked, for he held the enormously wealthy financial friend of Spain in awe and admiration.
“That, alas! is an enigma to me. I only know that he has made an attempt upon my life, and that at least one woman has been sent to the grave by foul means.”
“Do you really infer that Señor De Gex is an assassin?” he asked incredulously.