This man had actually been watching us, while we had been all unconscious of espionage! Fierce anger again rose within me. I admitted to myself that I had acted foolishly in associating with a man whom I knew to be a fugitive from justice; but it certainly never occurred to me that I might be subjected to such an ordeal as that I was undergoing. Alternatively threatening, coaxing, warning, and gesticulating, Tramu, a past-master in the art of interrogation, cross-examined me until the first rose-flush of dawn showed through the window. But he obtained nothing more from me. I told him frankly that, as he refused to give me any information, I, on my part, would remain dumb. His annoyance was apparent. He had expected me to meekly relate all I knew, but instead he found that I could be as evasive in my answers as he was clever in putting his questions. In turn quite half a dozen police officials entered the room and regarded me with considerable curiosity, until in anger I cried-- "This action of yours, Monsieur Tramu, is disgraceful! I know this is your abominable French police system, but I demand that word of my arrest be sent to the British Consul, with whom I shall lodge complaint." "My dear m'sieur," laughed the man with the tiny red button in his lapel, "that will be quite unnecessary. I think at this late hour we may now! dispense with your further presence. You are free to go;" and addressing a man in uniform, he added, "Bring in the chauffeur." I turned upon my heel and left the room, but as I went along the corridor I saw at the farther end Harris seated between two uniformed officers. Surely they would obtain no information from him, for he had only been engaged for the tour, and knew nothing further of Harvey Shaw or of Asta except--ah! he might know their address at Lydford! So I shouted along the corridor to him: "Harris! Don't tell them Mr Shaw's address in England, whatever you do." "Right you are, sir," he replied cheerily. "This is a funny job, ain't it, sir? They arrested me in bed." "Where's Mr Shaw?" "Don't know, sir. I suppose he and Miss Asta are in here somewhere," was his reply, as they ushered him into the room where the great Tramu awaited him. On my return to the hotel the sleepy night-porter admitted me. No; he had seen nothing of Monsieur Shaw or of Mademoiselle. Hastily I ascended the stairs to our suite of apartments, but they were not there. The beds had not been slept in, but their baggage had been piled up--evidently by the police, in readiness for removal and examination. The drawers and wardrobes had evidently been searched after their arrest, for the rooms were in great disorder. In my own room, during my absence, everything had been turned topsy-turvy. The lock of my steel dispatch-box had been broken and its contents turned out upon the bed. In France, when the police make a domiciliary visit, they certainly do it most thoroughly.