“No fight, Marquess. The idea of killing all seven of you, like the seven wives of Bluebeard, is positively hateful to me,” said Ralph. “Then you’ll follow me?” “To the end of the world!” said Ralph with enthusiasm. “Unconditionally, you understand?” “Oh, no, there’s one condition: you’ve got to buy me a meal,” said Ralph. “Right. Dry bread, dog-biscuit, and water,” said Marescal. “No,” said Ralph. “Well, what is your bill of fare?” said Marescal. “The same as yours, Rudolph. Meringues Chantilly babas au rhum, and Alicante wine.” “What do you mean?” asked Marescal on a sudden high note of acute anxiety and surprise. “My meaning is perfectly simple. You invite me to tea. I accept with pleasure. Haven’t you an appointment at five?” “An appointment!” cried Marescal almost in a squeak. “Yes. You haven’t forgotten it? At your place—not your house—your bachelor’s flat—Rue Duplan—a little flat looking on the street. Isn’t it there that you meet every afternoon and stuff with meringues dipped in Alicante, the wife of your——” “Be quiet!” said Marescal in a strangled whisper. He was as white as a sheet. All his self-confidence had vanished. He looked as if he would never joke again. “Why do you want me to keep silent?” asked Ralph innocently. “Is the invitation off? Aren’t you going to introduce me to——” “Silence, damn you!” hissed Marescal. He went back on to the landing, shut the door behind him, and took Philippe aside. “Just a few minutes, Philippe. There are some details to straighten out before we make an end of it. Take your men downstairs so that they mayn’t hear anything.” He came back into the room, rather shakily, went to Ralph and with his face almost touching Ralph’s face, said in a voice too low for Bregeac and Aurelie to hear it: “What do you mean? What are you getting at?” “Nothing at all.” “Then what are you talking about? How do you know?” “The address of your flat, and the name of your pretty friend? Goodness, all I have to do in your case was what I did in the case of Bregeac and Jodot and his colleagues, make discreet inquiries about your private life, which enquiries brought me to a mysterious ground-floor flat, very prettily furnished where you entertain charming ladies. Dim lights, incense, flowers, sweet wines, divans as deep as tombs—Marescal’s Folly. What?” “And what ab-b-bout it?” stammered Marescal. “Haven’t I the right to do as I like? What connection is there between that and my arresting you.” “There wouldn’t be any connection at all, if you hadn’t been guilty of the further folly of choosing this little abode of love as a safe place to hide those ladies’ letters.” “It’s a lie!” snapped Marescal. “If I were lying, you wouldn’t be as white as a sheet,” said Ralph. “The details?” said Marescal savagely.