"I regret to admit that it is. Indeed, Monsieur Biddulph, you have every need to exercise the greatest care. Otherwise misfortune will occur to you. Mark what I--a stranger--tell you." I started. Here again was a warning uttered! The situation was growing quite uncanny. "What makes you expect this?" "It is more than mere surmise," he said slowly and in deep earnestness. "I happen to know." From that last sentence of his I jumped to the conclusion that he was, after all, one of the malefactors. He was warning me with the distinct object of putting me off my guard. His next move, no doubt, would be to try and pose as my friend and adviser! I laughed within myself, for I was too wary for him. "Well," I said, after a few moments' silence, as together we ascended the broad flight of steps, with the high column looming in the darkness, "the fact is, I've become tired of all these warnings. Everybody I meet seems to predict disaster for me. Why, I can't make out." "No one has revealed to you the reason--eh?" he asked in a low, meaning voice. "No." "Ah! Then, of course, you cannot discern the peril. It is but natural that you should treat all well-meant advice lightly. Probably I should, _mon cher ami_, if I were in your place." "Well," I exclaimed impatiently, halting again, "now, what is it that you really know? Don't beat about the bush any longer. Tell me, frankly and openly." The man merely raised his shoulders significantly, but made no response. In the ray of light which fell upon him, his gold-rimmed spectacles glinted, while his shrewd dark eyes twinkled behind them, as though he delighted in mystifying me. "Surely you can reply," I cried in anger. "What is the reason of all this? What have I done?" "Ah! it is what monsieur has not done." "Pray explain." "Pardon. I cannot explain. Why not ask mademoiselle? She knows everything." "Everything!" I echoed. "Then why does she not tell me?" "She fears--most probably." Could it be that this strange foreigner was purposely misleading me? I gazed upon his stout, well-dressed figure, and the well-brushed silk hat which he wore with such jaunty air. In Pall Mall a string of taxi-cabs was passing westward, conveying homeward-bound theatre folk, while across at the brightly-lit entrance of the Carlton, cabs and taxis were drawing up and depositing well-dressed people about to sup. At the corner of the Athenaeum Club we halted again, for I wanted to rid myself of him. I had acted foolishly in addressing him in the first instance. For aught I knew, he might be an accomplice of those absconding assassins of Porchester Terrace. As we stood there, he had the audacity to produce his cigarette-case and offer me one. But I resentfully declined it.