British Embassy, and the General handed out his card to the
magnificent porter who received them.

"Kindly let Colonel Papillon have that without delay." The General
had written a few words: "I have got into fresh trouble. Come on
to me at the Police Prefecture if you can spare the time."

"The Colonel is now in the Chancery: will not monsieur wait?"
asked the porter, with superb civility.

But the detective would not suffer this, and interposed, answering
abruptly for Sir Charles:

"No. It is impossible. We are going to the Quai l'Horloge. It is
an urgent matter."

The porter knew what the Quai l'Horloge meant, and he guessed
intuitively who was speaking. Every Frenchman can recognize a
police officer, and has, as a rule, no great opinion of him.

"Very well!" now said the porter, curtly, as he banged the
wicket-gate on the retreating cab, and he did not hurry himself
in giving the card to Colonel Papillon.

"Does this mean that I am a prisoner?" asked Sir Charles, his
gorge rising, as it did easily.

"It means, monsieur, that you are in the hands of justice until
your recent conduct has been fully explained," said the detective,
with the air of a despot.