least, whatever might be about to happen, she had it in her own hands
now.

Neither of us spoke nor made a sound during the instant that she clung
to me, the faint, well-remembered perfume of her hair, her dress, in my
nostrils. But as she started away, and I knew that she had the
letter-case, the knock came again. Then, before I could be sure whether
she wished for time to hide, or whether she would have me cry "come in,"
without seeming to hesitate, the door opened. For a second or two Maxine
and I, and a group of figures at the door were mere shadows in the ever
deepening pink dusk: but I could scarcely have counted ten before the
long expected light sprang up. I had turned it on in more than one
place: and a sudden, brilliant illumination showed me a tall Commissary
of Police, with two little gendarmes looking over his shoulder.

I threw a glance at Maxine, who was still veiled, and was relieved to
see that she had found some means of putting the letter-case out of
sight. Having ascertained this, I sharply enquired in French what in the
devil's name the Commissary of Police meant by walking into an
Englishman's room without being invited; and not only that, but what
under heaven he wanted anyway.

He was far more polite than I was.

"Ten thousand pardons, Monsieur," he apologised. "I knocked twice, but
hearing no answer, entered, thinking that perhaps, after all, the salon
was unoccupied. Important business must be my excuse. I have to request
that Monsieur Dundas will first place in my hands the gift he has
brought from London to Mademoiselle de Renzie."