“But why,” urged Westerham, “was it found necessary to play all these tricks with my clothes? Why, they must have been made from extremely careful measurements. I should say they had been modelled on one of my own suits. And the boots are the strangest part of all—they fit me like gloves.” “It was intended they should,” said Mme. Estelle. “And be thankful that they do, for though it is impossible for me to explain, they have actually saved you from death. I assure you that there is no man this afternoon more jealous of your safety than Melun.” “And Lady Kathleen?” “Lady Kathleen,” said Mme. Estelle, gravely, “is still in great danger—but it is a danger of a different kind.” “You don't mean to tell me,” cried Westerham, “that whereas my life has been spared hers is not safe.” Mme. Estelle nodded. “Good Heavens!” cried Westerham. “But this is monstrous—perfectly monstrous! What does all this juggling mean?” “Please don't excite yourself, Sir Paul!” said Mme. Estelle. “It can do no good. Believe me that I bear Lady Kathleen no ill-will, and that if I can save her I will do so, even at the cost of being a little disloyal to Melun.” “But why all this trickery and mystery?” demanded Westerham again. “It almost amounts to tomfoolery. One would think that Melun had gone crazy and was indulging in some mad whim.” “Perhaps it is a whim, but it is a whim with a very serious motive.” “Come,” she added, “let's try to get some breakfast. I promise you that if you will only endeavour to get strong during the day you shall certainly see Lady Kathleen to-night.” “Where?” “Where,” said Mme. Estelle, “I don't know. I can only guess. It was not my business to ask questions on that point. The cab will call for you to-night at nine.” “The cab!” exclaimed Westerham. “Do you mean the same vehicle which brought me here? For if you mean that then I decline to travel in it.” “Then I fear,” said Mme. Estelle, sharply, “you will have to forego the satisfaction of seeing Lady Kathleen. The cab will be your only means of reaching her.” “Do you mean to tell me,” demanded Westerham, who had been so unnerved by the chloroform as to become a little excited, “do you mean that I am a prisoner in this house?” “Only so far as your feelings keep you captive,” was the answer. “And I know what your feelings will say. They will decide that you must wait here in patience until the hour comes for you to go to Lady Kathleen.” Westerham said no more; it was idle to argue with this woman. Circumstances were too strong and strange for him. After breakfast he revived considerably, and Madame left him on the couch with a pile of magazines to amuse him. Lunch was served at one, and the afternoon dragged slowly and painfully away. It was with great impatience that Westerham watched the table being leisurely and neatly laid for dinner. His irritation grew with every passing minute.