Surely the man must hear her and take alarm. This was her idea as her clothes rustled in her hand, and her tiny feet shuffled upon the polished boards. The man would hear her and burst through the folding doors presently. When, however, he made no sign, she became a little emboldened, and being now quite dressed, she went to the interstice of the doors and looked through. Then she perceived her husband’s valet, Paul Lacroix, who was searching her writing-table by the aid of an electric torch, whose aureole fell weirdly upon the scattered papers. Paul Lacroix! That it should be he! She remembered that she had last seen him at Holmswell on the eve of the debacle. He had always been a silent, civil fellow whom it was a pleasure to have in the house. Luton, she knew, trusted him entirely, and the others gave a very good account of him. When the crash came, he had followed his master without complaint, to Africa and then to the East. She believed him staunch, and would have named him as one of the few in her own house who had done his duty loyally both to master and to mistress. And here he was at Andana, prying among her papers! The very fact robbed her of all fear and, opening the door immediately, she asked him what he was doing. He was a man of the middle height, clean-shaven, and with crisp black hair, which contrasted sharply with a very pale face. It may be that he was not unprepared for interruption; for he merely looked up as Lily entered, and then, shutting down the desk with a click, he held his hand upon it while he answered her. "Madame," he said, "I am seeking Sir Luton’s address." The effrontery of it astonished her. She switched on the electric light and came a little further into the room. "You are seeking my husband’s address, but why did you not come to me?" He smiled a little contemptuously. "I did not come, Madame, because you would not have given me what I wanted." There was a threat here, and she could not mistake it. The peril of her situation occurred to her immediately. He had offered no opposition when she switched on the light; he knew, then, that she dare not summon assistance, and was content with the knowledge for his security. "I do not understand you," she said with wonder. "Why are you not with Sir Luton?" He laughed openly. "You know that, Madame—you and the other. Why do you ask me the question?" She thought upon it, trying to recall the account of the flight as it had been given to her. "You were to go to Paris," she said presently, "you were to await Sir Luton there?" He did not deny it. His shoulders were lifted in a characteristic gesture, his hands outspread when he rejoined: "But, Madame, my master will never go to Paris—not while the police of Switzerland are looking for him." She began to breathe as one distressed. Little had been said, but that was sufficient. She knew the character of this man now; there was no need to ask another question.