"He seems to have entertained a curious suspicion concerning your father," I admitted. "Of course, he did not know half that I know." "Of course not," she sighed. "He simply believed--as others do--that he is a country gentleman. And he would have been if--" "If what?" "If--if it had not been for that horrible woman," she added, in a low hard voice. "Ah, Mr Kemball, if only you could know the truth--if only I dare tell you. But I can't--I can't betray the man who has been so good and kind to me all my life." "But could I not, if I knew the actual truth, be of service to him?" I suggested. "Could I not be of service to him for your sake?" I added, in a low earnest tone, my eyes fixed upon her pale, troubled countenance. She looked at me in sharp, startled surprise. Her cheeks flushed slightly. Then, lowering her eyes, she turned her glance away, straight before her again, and in pretence that she had not understood my meaning, replied simply-- "If the heavy hand of disaster falls upon him, then I fear it must fall upon me also." How sweet she looked--how serious and pensive her beautiful countenance. "I must act as your friend and use my best endeavours to ward it off," I said. "Did you not do so in Aix, Mr Kemball? We have to thank you for everything. They expected to learn a good deal through you, and while you engaged their attention we were enabled to make a hurried exit. It is, indeed, fortunate that I recognised Victor Tramu!" "Then I suppose you have had previous narrow escapes?" "One or two," she replied, smiling. "But Dad is always so very wary. He is generally forewarned." "By whom?" "By the man who watches him always--a man named Surridge, who never allows his identity to be known, but who acts as our watchdog, to give us warning of any unwelcome watcher." "But he failed at Aix." "Because Dad foolishly sent him upon an errand to somebody in Paris." "He is a friend of your father's, I suppose?" "Yes, a great friend. He was once in the London detective police, but on his retirement he found his present post a very lucrative one--the personal guardian of one for whom the police are ever in search! You saw him on his cycle on the afternoon I overtook you in the car--the first time we met?" and she smiled as she spoke. "His vigilance is never relaxed," she added, "and his true _metier_ never suspected. No doubt he is near my father now on his journey back to Lydford." "Then he would not allow him to go if he were still being watched by Tramu?" "Certainly not. We can, I think, after all, make our minds quite easy upon that score," she replied. And as I sat at the steering-wheel I found myself wondering whether any other man had loved in circumstances so curious and so unusual.