"I’ll tell you willingly, every word," he rejoined. "There’s no doubt that Bothand and Co. got out a warrant in England against Sir Luton, and that the Swiss police, acting on instructions from Scotland Yard, traced him here. They sent an officer, Eugène Gaillarde, from Martigny, to ascertain if their man was at Vermala; he watched your husband for a couple of days. I think he may have followed him over from Grindelwald, but I do not know for sure. If they had established his identity, word would have been sent to London; most likely they would have arrested him, and applied for extradition. Anyway, it seems clear that Sir Luton knew he was being followed, and that he resented the fact just in the way such a man would resent it. As bad luck would have it, he seems to have met Gaillarde face to face on the plateau below the hotel. There were words passed between them, and then blows. What precisely befell we shall never know, but I make no doubt that Gaillarde lost his footing and was thrown over. He must have fallen about thirty-five feet and struck the clump of trees at the foot. I saw him there myself, lying stone dead, and that’s how I came to warn your husband. If Sir Luton hadn’t gone away, it would have been a murder charge. We may avoid that if they don’t trace him, and time will put the affair in another light. It would be manslaughter at the worst—though I can’t keep it from you that, whichever it is, it’s bad enough in a country like this. What you and I have to do is to keep the thing black dark while we can. I’ve sent Sir Luton where no police will find him, and if he’s wise he will stay there until the worst has blown over. Then he ought to go to the East for a couple of years. We can tell a tale in the English papers if the truth ever does come out, and he won’t want sympathisers. We hate bureaucrats in our country, and there’s many who will understand just what happened in his case. It would be otherwise if they had taken him and brought the trial on immediately. I had to stop that at any cost—that’s why I sent him into Italy. The same reason lay behind my idea that you should go to England. You are a danger to him here, Lady Delayne, so it seems to me. You are a danger every hour you remain, and if you would save him, you won’t lose an hour in going away. I’m glad that I can tell you so freely, for I couldn’t this morning, much as I wanted to—" He paused, a little afraid of his own eloquence. What impression he had made he did not know; but one thing was plain, and that was the woman’s courage. There was no hysterical outburst now, no expression of a vain regret—nothing but a quiet determination which astonished him.