There was the glow of a cigar where some one smoked, at the end
of the long porch. Within, there was only a sleepy clerk.

Madame Barras had not arrived . . . he was quite sure; she had
gone out to dinner somewhere and had not come in!

I was profoundly concerned. But I took a moment to reflect
before deciding what to do.

I stepped outside and there, coming up from the shadow of the
porch, I met Sir Henry Marquis.

It was chance at its extreme of favor. If I had been given the
selection, in all the world, I should have asked for Sir Henry
Marquis at that decisive moment.

The relief I felt made my words extravagant.

"Marquis!" I cried. "You here!"

"Ah, Winthrop," he said, in his drawling Oxford voice, "what have
you done with Madame Barras; I was waiting for her?"

I told him, in a word, how she had set out from my house - my
concern - the walk down here and this result. I did not ask him
at the moment how he happened to be here, or with a knowledge of
our guest. I thought that Marquis was in Canada. But one does
not, with success, inquire of a C.I.D. official even in his own
country. One met him in the most unexpected places, unconcerned,
and one would have said at leisure.