hundred times, Bobby returned on the past and tried to piece together
consecutively all the incidents since his first meeting with Madame de
Corantin. Gradually an impression formed itself in his mind that what at
first had seemed an attractive mystery was something deeper than he had
imagined. Gradually there spread over him a vague sensation of
discomfort, of apprehension even. Still, when he thought about her it
seemed impossible to connect anything sinister with a personality so
charming, with a disposition so amiable. No, it was beyond him; it
was useless his attempting to puzzle out the problem. Only time could
explain it. As they had met at the Savoy, so sooner or later they would
meet again. He knew it was useless to try and forget her; that was
impossible, but, in the meantime, what?

Suddenly his reflections were interrupted. Some one was ringing the bell
at the entrance. Bobby went to the door. Two men were standing
outside--strangers to him.

"Are you Mr. Froelich?" one of them asked.

"Yes," answered Bobby. "Why? What do you want?"

"I should like to speak to you a moment."

"What about?" Bobby eyed them suspiciously.

"I am from Scotland Yard, Mr. Froelich. We'd better go inside to talk."

Bobby, quite bewildered, led them into his sitting-room, and shut the
door.