and came forth from my pavilion, hoping that Professor Keredec and his
friend would not mind eating in the same garden with a man in a corduroy
jacket and knickerbockers; but the gentlemen continued invisible to the
public eye, and mine was the only table set for dinner in the garden.
Up-stairs the curtains were carefully drawn across all the windows of
the east wing; little leaks of orange, here and there, betraying the
lights within. Glouglou, bearing a tray of covered dishes, was just
entering the salon of the "Grande Suite," and the door closed quickly
after him.

"It is to be supposed that Professor Keredec and his friend are fatigued
with their journey from Paris?" I began, a little later.

"Monsieur, they did not seem fatigued," said Amedee.

"But they dine in their own rooms to-night."

"Every night, monsieur. It is the order of Professor Keredec. And with
their own valet-de-chambre to serve them. Eh?" He poured my coffee
solemnly. "That is mysterious, to say the least, isn't it?"

"To say the very least," I agreed.

"Monsieur the professor is a man of secrets, it appears," continued
Amedee. "When he wrote to Madame Brossard engaging his rooms, he
instructed her to be careful that none of us should mention even his
name; and to-day when he came, he spoke of his anxiety on that point."

"But you did mention it."