These considerations confirmed Ralph’s belief in his hypothesis of a trap; he was sure that it explained the relations between Lord Bakersfield and Marescal. Doubtless William had threatened Lord Bakersfield with the exposure of his daughter’s nefarious activities, and the Englishman had called on the Commissary to help him. The Commissary had set a trap into which the young crook would inevitably fall. Well and good: Ralph could not but be delighted that he should. But what about the girl with the green eyes? Was she also taking part in this blackmailing scheme? How in that event was he himself going to act? Was he going to rescue her again? The thought was repugnant to him, considering the baseness of their enterprise. Was he going to let Marescal capture her? That day Lord Bakersfield kept Marescal to lunch. After the meal they went into the garden and walked round it several times, talking with considerable animation. At a quarter to three the detective came back into Lord Bakersfield’s sitting-room; Lord Bakersfield sat down on a bench in sight of the windows of his suite, not far from the gate of the garden which opened into the street. Ralph kept watch from his window. “If she comes, all the worse for her,” he murmured to himself. “I won’t move a finger to help her.” Nevertheless a great weight lifted from his spirit when he saw William appear alone, advancing cautiously, looking about him anxiously, at the gate of the garden. He went straight to Lord Bakersfield, and they talked. Their conversation was brief, doubtless they settled the terms of the transaction. Then Lord Bakersfield rose, and the two of them came towards his suite. They came in silence, William ill at ease and suspicious, Lord Bakersfield thoughtful and frowning. At the foot of the steps he said coldly: “Go in, Monsieur, I don’t want to be mixed up in this dirty business myself. My secretary knows all about it and will pay you the money for the letters, if their contents are what you say they are.” He turned on his heel and went along the path back to his bench. William hesitated, then went up the steps. Ralph hurried to the doors between the two rooms. The door on his side was already opened, he opened the other an inch or two and listened, awaiting the explosion. It was clear that William did not know Marescal, but believed him to be Lord Bakersfield’s secretary. Ralph found that he could see the Commissary in a mirror on the opposite wall of the room. “Here are the fifty thousand-franc notes and a cheque on a London bank for the same amount. Have you the letters?” said Marescal in sharp, staccato accents. “No,” said William. “What do you mean by ‘no?’ In that case there’s nothing doing. My instructions are strict. The money for the letters only,” snapped Marescal. “I will mail them on to you.” “You’re mad, my man; or rather you’re trying to trick us!”