"Because--because it is imperative, Sonia," he replied in a tone quite unusual. "I--I would tell you all, only--only you would think ill of me. So I prefer that you, my daughter, should remain in ignorance, and still love me--still----" His words were interrupted by Felix, who opened the door, and, advancing with silent tread, said-- "A gentleman wishes to speak with m'sieur on very urgent business. You are unacquainted with him, he says. His name is Max Morel, and he must see you at once. He is in the hall." Poland's face went a trifle paler. Whom could the stranger be? Why did he desire an interview at that hour?--for it was already eleven o'clock. "Sonia dear," he said quietly, turning to his daughter, "will you leave me for a few moments? I must see what this gentleman wants." The girl followed Felix out somewhat reluctantly, when, a few seconds later, a short, middle-aged Frenchman, with pointed grey beard and wearing gold pince-nez, was ushered in. Philip Poland started and instantly went pale at sight of his visitor. "I need no introduction, m'sieur. You recognize me, I see," remarked the stranger, in French. "Yes," was the other's reply. "You are Henri Guertin, chief inspector of the surete of Paris. We have met before--once." "And you are no doubt aware of the reason of my visit?" "I can guess," replied the unhappy man. "You are here to arrest me--I know. I----" The renowned detective--one of the greatest criminal investigators in Europe--glanced quickly at the closed door, and, dropping his voice, said-- "I am here, not to arrest you, M'sieur Poland--but to afford you an opportunity of escape." "Of escape!" gasped the other, his drawn countenance blanched to the lips. "Yes, escape. Listen. My instructions are to afford you an easy opportunity of--well, of escaping the ignominy of arrest, exposure, trial, and penalty, by a very simple means--death by your own hand." "Suicide!" echoed Poland, after a painful pause. "Ah! I quite understand! The Government are not anxious that the scandal should be made public, eh?" he cried bitterly. "I have merely told you my instructions," was the detective's response, as, with a quick, foreign gesture, he displayed on his left hand a curious old engraved amethyst set in a ring--probably an episcopal ring of ages long ago. "At midnight I have an appointment at the cross-roads, half-a-mile away, with Inspector Watts of Scotland Yard, who holds a warrant for your arrest and extradition to France. If you are still alive when we call, then you must stand your trial--that is all. Trial will mean exposure, and----" "And my exposure will mean the downfall and ruin of those political thieves now in power--eh?" cried Poland. "They are not at all anxious that I should fall into the hands of the police."