servant that they were expecting a visitor, for only two places were laid
in the little dining-room into which they all three walked on entering
the house.

Propped up against the now lighted lamp was a letter addressed to
Monsieur Polperro in a peculiar, large handwriting. L'Ami Fritz, again
uttering that queer guttural exclamation, snatched up the envelope, and
hurriedly put it into his breast-pocket.

"I brought that letter out of M'sieur's bed-room," observed the
day-servant, cringingly. "I feared M'sieur had forgotten it! Would
M'sieur like me to take it to the Villa du Lac on my way home?"

"No," said Monsieur Wachner, shortly. "There is no need for you to do
that; Madame Bailey will kindly take it for me."

And again Sylvia felt surprised. Surely he had said--or was it Madame
Wachner?--that they had arranged for a man to call for it.

His wife shouted out his name imperiously from the dark passage, "Fritz!
Fritz! Come here a moment; I want you."

He hurried out of the room, and Sylvia and the servant were thus left
alone together for a few moments in the dining-room.

The woman went to the buffet and took up a plate; she came and placed it
noisily on the table, and, under cover of the sound she made, "Do not
stay here, Madame," she whispered, thrusting her wrinkled, sharp-featured
face close to the Englishwoman's. "Come away with me! Say you want me to
wait a bit and conduct you back to the Villa du Lac."