She suddenly stopped speaking and flushed with embarrassment. “If you mean that Madame de Stämer is in love with her cousin, I agree with you,” I said, quietly. “Oh, is it so evident as that?” murmured Val Beverley. She laughed to cover her confusion. “I wish I could understand what it all means.” At this point our tête-à-tête was interrupted by the return of Madame de Stämer. “Oh, la la!” she cried, “the Colonel must have allowed himself to become too animated this evening. He is threatened with one of his attacks and I have insisted upon his immediate retirement. He makes his apologies, but knows you will understand.” I expressed my concern, and: “I was unaware that Colonel Menendez’s health was impaired,” I said. “Ah,” Madame shrugged characteristically. “Juan has travelled too much of the road of life on top speed, Mr. Knox.” She snapped her white fingers and grimaced significantly. “Excitement is bad for him.” She wheeled her chair up beside Val Beverley, and taking the girl’s hand patted it affectionately. “You look pale to-night, my dear,” she said. “All this bogey business is getting on your nerves, eh?” “Oh, not at all,” declared the girl. “It is very mysterious and annoying, of course.” “But M. Paul Harley will presently tell us what it is all about,” concluded Madame. “Yes, I trust so. We want no Cuban devils here at Cray’s Folly.” I had hoped that she would speak further of the matter, but having thus apologized for our host’s absence, she plunged into an amusing account of Parisian society, and of the changes which five years of war had brought about. Her comments, although brilliant, were superficial, the only point I recollect being her reference to a certain Baron Bergmann, a Swedish diplomat, who, according to Madame, had the longest nose and the shortest memory in Paris, so that in the cold weather, “he even sometimes forgot to blow his nose.” Her brightness I thought was almost feverish. She chattered and laughed and gesticulated, but on this occasion she was overacting. Underneath all her vivacity lay something cold and grim. Harley rejoined us in half an hour or so, but I could see that he was as conscious of the air of tension as I was. All Madame’s high spirits could not enable her to conceal the fact that she was anxious to retire. But Harley’s evident desire to do likewise surprised me very greatly; for from the point of view of the investigation the day had been an unsatisfactory one. I knew that there must be a hundred and one things which my friend desired to know, questions which Madame de Stämer could have answered. Nevertheless, at about ten o’clock we separated for the night, and although I was intensely anxious to talk to Harley, his reticent mood had descended upon him again, and: “Sleep well, Knox,” he said, as he paused at my door. “I may be awakening you early.” With which cryptic remark and not another word he passed on and entered his own room. CHAPTER XI THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND