"Ah, monsieur, a thousand pardons," cried the man, raising his hat and bowing with the elegance of the true Parisian. "I have simply spoken the truth. Did you not put to me questions which I have answered? You have said you are engaged to the daughter of my friend Penning-ton. That has interested me." "Why?" "Because the daughter of my friend Penning-ton always interests me," was his curious reply. "Is that an intended sarcasm?" I asked resentfully. "Not in the least, m'sieur," he said quickly. "I have every admiration for the young lady." "Then you know her--eh?" "By repute." "Why?" "Well, her father was connected with one of the strangest and most extraordinary incidents in my life," he said. "Even to-day, the mystery of it all has not been cleared up. I have tried, times without number, to elucidate it, but have always failed." "What part did Sylvia play in the affair, may I ask?" "Really," he replied, "I scarcely know. It was so utterly extraordinary--beyond human credence." "Tell me--explain to me," I said, instantly interested. What could this man know of my well-beloved? He was silent for some minutes. We were still standing by the steps. Surely it was scarcely the place for an exchange of confidences. "I fear that monsieur must really excuse me. The matter is purely a personal one--purely confidential, and concerns myself alone--just--just as your close acquaintanceship with Mademoiselle Sylvia concerns you." "It seems that it concerns other persons as well, if one may judge by what has recently occurred." "Ah! Then your enemies have arisen because of your engagement to the girl--eh?" "The girl!" How strange! Pennington's mysterious friends of the Brescia road had referred to her as "the girl." So had those two assassins in Porchester Terrace! Was it a mere coincidence, or had he, too, betrayed a collusion with those mean blackguards who had put me to that horrible torture? Had you met this strange man at night in St. James's Park, would you have placed any faith in him? I think not. I maintain that I was perfectly justified in treating him as an enemy. He was rather too intimately acquainted with the doings of Harriman and his gang to suit my liking. Even as he stood there beneath the light of the street-lamp, I saw that his bright eyes twinkled behind those gold pince-nez, while the big old-fashioned amethyst he wore on his finger was a conspicuous object. He gave one the appearance of a prosperous merchant or shopkeeper. "What makes you suggest that the attempt was due to my affection for Sylvia?" I asked him. "Well, it furnishes a motive, does it not?" "No, it doesn't. I have no enemies--as far as I am aware." "But there exists some person who is highly jealous of mademoiselle, and who is therefore working against you in secret." "Is that your opinion?"