“Scotland Yard knows that, ma’am,” said the man. “We’ve had our eyes on that house for two weeks, and this kind of thing is what we want.” “The double brougham,” was Coombe’s order to the servant who answered his ring. Then he came back to Mademoiselle. “Mr. Barkstow is a detective,” he said. “Among the other things he has done for me, he has, for some time, kept a casual eye on Robin. She is too lovely a child and too friendless to be quite safe. There are blackguards who know when a girl has not the usual family protection. He came here to tell me that she had been seen sitting in Kensington Gardens with a woman Scotland Yard has reason to suspect.” “A black ’un!” said Barkstow savagely. “If she’s the one we think she is—a black, poisonous, sly one with a face that no girl could suspect.” Coombe’s still countenance was so deadly in the slow lividness, which Mademoiselle saw began to manifest itself, that she caught his sleeve with a shaking hand. “She’s nothing but a baby!” she said. “She doesn’t know what a baby she is. I can see her eyes frantic with terror! She’d go mad.” “Good God!” he said, in a voice so low it was scarcely audible. He almost dragged her out of the room, though, as they passed through the hall, the servants only saw that he had given the lady his arm—and two of the younger footmen exchanged glances with each other which referred solely to the inimitableness of the cut of his evening overcoat. When they entered the carriage, Barkstow entered with them and Mademoiselle Vallé leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her face clutched in her hands. She was trying to shut out from her mental vision a memory of Robin’s eyes. “If—if Fräulein Hirsch is—not true,” she broke out once. “Count von Hillern is concerned. It has come upon me like a flash. Why did I not see before?” The party at the big house, where the red carpet was rolled across the pavement, was at full height when they drove into the Place. Their brougham did not stop at the corner but at the end of the line of waiting carriages. Coombe got out and looked up and down the thoroughfare. “It must be done quietly. There must be no scandal,” he said. “The policeman on the beat is an enormous fellow. You will attend to him, Barkstow,” and Barkstow nodded and strolled away. Coombe walked up the Place and down on the opposite side until he was within a few yards of the corner house. When he reached this point, he suddenly quickened his footsteps because he saw that someone else was approaching it with an air of intention. It was a man, not quite as tall as himself but of heavier build and with square held shoulders. As the man set his foot upon the step, Coombe touched him on the arm and said something in German. The man started angrily and then suddenly stood quite still and erect. “It will be better for us to walk up the Place together,” Lord Coombe said, with perfect politeness.