self beside
the girl.

The man was my French friend, Suzor!

That they had gone there on purpose to meet him was now quite clear,
for after a few moments the old woman laughed, rose and walked on, in
order to leave the girl alone with the Frenchman. What could be the
meaning of that clandestine meeting?--for clandestine it was, or
Monsieur Suzor would have called at Longridge Road. Possibly they
expected that they might be watched, hence they had met as though by
accident at that spot where they believed they would not be observed.

Gaston Suzor was a shrewd, clever man. But what did this friendship
with Gabrielle Tennison denote? As I watched I saw him speaking very
earnestly. For some time she sat with her gloved hands idly in her lap
listening to his words without comment. Then she shook her head, and
put up her hands in protest. Afterwards by her attitude she seemed to
be appealing to him, while he remained obdurate and unperturbed.

I longed to overhear their conversation, but in the fading light of
that brief wintry afternoon it was impossible to approach closer. I
could only sit and watch. My eyes were strained to see every gesture
of the pair, now that the stout figure of the girl's companion had
disappeared towards the Bayswater Road. In that oasis in the desert of
aristocratic London one can obtain quite sylvan surroundings. True,
the trees and vegetation are covered with a film of grime from the
millions of smoking chimneys of the giant metropolis, still Kensington
Gardens ever possesses a charm all its own as a clandestine
meeting-place for well-born lovers and ill-born loafers, for
nursemaids and soldiers, and for persons of both sexes who wish for a
little quiet talk in the open air in order so often to clear a hectic
atmosphere.

Such I judged to be the case between Gaston Suzor and Gabrielle
Tennison.

At first the girl sat inert with downcast eyes listening to the man.
But suddenly she raised her hands in quick protest again, and
apparently became resentful--even angry. Then when he spoke some
reassuring words she became calmer.

As I sat there shrewdly watching, I could not help reflecting upon a
still further problem which now presented itself. The very last person
in the world whom I should have suspected of being connected with the
strange affair at Stretton Street was my affable friend the French
banker. I now began to wonder if my first meeting with him in the
express train between York