At this juncture the men exchanged one or two remarks in a rapid undertone. Then, while one of them remained, apparently to keep guard over us, the other cantered away across the turf, struck the road close to the wood, and disappeared. In the absence of his companion, who apparently was his superior in authority, the gendarme thawed to some extent. We gathered that the Chateau d'Uzerche was about eighty miles by road from Monte Carlo, and twelve or so miles from Digne, in the Bedeone Valley, also that no village lay within a radius of two miles of it. Small wonder, therefore, that no fire-escape had come. "Where is la Baronne de Coudron?" the man asked suddenly. We explained that we feared she had been either burnt or suffocated. At this he looked grave. "And her companion, the Englishman Monsieur Paulton, where is he?" Again we explained. He had escaped from the fire, but, since his escape, we had not seen him. "Why do you want to know?" Faulkner asked, in his politest tones. "Because," the man answered, taken off his guard, "we have a warrant for the arrest of both Madame la Baronne and the Englishman." "Arrest! For what?" Faulkner asked. "On several charges. The most recent is a charge of obtaining money by fraud--a large sum. There is also a charge of blackmail." "Against both?" "Against both." I was silent. Here was a new phase of the affair. By degrees we gathered from him that Paulton was known to be interested in various undertakings of, to say the least, a dubious nature, also that he promoted wild-cat companies in England, on the Continent, and in America. Information that especially interested us was that all who had escaped from the fire had made their way to the lodge at the entrance to the drive. It was at this juncture that the other gendarme reappeared. He was still on horseback, and, as he came towards us slowly, our attention became centred upon the man who walked beside him, with one hand on his stirrup. In the distance it looked very like Paulton. He seemed quite composed. His mouth was bound up, partly concealing his face. When a few yards from us the gendarme reined up. As he did so, Paulton raised his arm, pointed at me, and said in French-- "That's the man you came to arrest. That is Dago Paulton." "And his companion?" the gendarme asked. "Is his valet." "And your name, monsieur?" "Ferrari--Paoli Ferrari. My father was Italian, my mother English. I have been in Mr. Paulton's service as butler for the last three years. Previous to that I was butler to Count Pinto"--the Portuguese diplomat who had won the cup for shooting. "Thank you, monsieur, I am exceedingly indebted to you," the gendarme said blandly. Then, producing an official-looking document, he said to me-- "We have to take you into custody, you and Madame la Baronne."