"Listen!" said Tom, though he never moved and never took his gaze from the fire. "It's at the side door," exclaimed Christopher. "A visitor for my lodgers." "Sparhawk," said Tom Horn. And while Christopher gazed at his friend, astonished, steps were heard descending a stairway; there was a murmur of voices, and then the stairs creaked under a double burden. "He knew last night they were lodged here," said Tom Horn. "I told him so." "Do you think," said Christopher incredulously, "that was what he wanted to talk about?" "It was partly that," nodded Tom. "But mainly it was about what they were doing in this country. He made me tell what I knew, without asking, just as he made you a few moments ago." Christopher Dent looked completely mystified. "It is all very odd," said he. "I wonder what he has in his mind?" "Aye, I wonder," said Tom Horn, his gaze never leaving the flame in the open stove. "I wonder, indeed." XIV Mr. Sparhawk had carefully closed the door of the apothecary shop and had passed the window with the leisurely air of a man who has satisfactorily transacted his business. But while still only a few steps away he had paused; then he went to the side door and knocked the _rat-tat-tat_ which Tom Horn and the apothecary had heard. A quadroon maid answered. Was Monsieur Lafargue at home? No, he was not. But Mademoiselle Lafargue was. Perhaps the gentleman would care to see her? Yes, it so happened after some consideration the gentleman would; and he was led up-stairs and asked to wait in a room into which the staircase opened. In a few moments Mademoiselle Lafargue appeared. She was taller than Mr. Sparhawk, and dressed in a robe that was not common in the houses of American women of that time. Her fine dark eyes were full of questioning as she looked at the visitor. "I hope I don't intrude," said Mr. Sparhawk. "It's a matter of business that might not wait with profit." "Will you sit down?" said the girl. They sat down. Mr. Sparhawk settled himself comfortably, and put his finger-tips precisely together; then he regarded the girl with careful attention. "You are the daughter of Jean Edouard Lafargue, citizen of Brest, I understand?" "Yes," said the girl. "He is, and has been, agent in France for the commercial house of Rufus Stevens' Sons," stated Mr. Sparhawk gravely, "and is in America on business having to do with that concern." There was a shadow in the girl's eyes; but her voice was level and unchanged as she said: "Am I to understand that you are its representative?" "By no means," said Mr. Sparhawk. "I would not have you understand that for the world, because such would not be the fact. I do _not_ represent it." "It was your confidence as to my father's business that made me suppose it," said the girl quietly.