fect of Police naturally became very inquisitive, but I
preferred not to satisfy his curiosity. My intention was to return to
London and demand from De Gex a full explanation of what had actually
occurred on that fatal night. I was full of suspicion regarding the
sudden death of his niece, Gabrielle Engledue.

The police official told me that from my clothes all the tabs bearing
the tailor's name had been removed, and also the laundry marks from my
underclothes. There was nothing upon me that could possibly establish
my identity, though in my pocket was found five thousand pounds in
bank notes--which he handed to me. They were intact--the same notes
which De Gex has given me in return for the false death certificate I
had signed.

I sat utterly aghast at the story of my discovery, of the many
attempts made to establish my identity, of the visit of the British
Vice-Consul to the hospital, and of his kindness towards me. It seemed
that he had questioned me closely, but I had told an utterly fantastic
story.

Indeed, as I sat there, I felt that neither of my three interrogators
believed a single word of the truth I related. Yet, after all, I was
not revealing the whole truth.

Certain recollections which I would have forgotten came to me. I had,
I knew, committed a very serious criminal offence in posing as a
medical man and giving that death certificate. Possibly I had been an
accessory to some great crime--the crime of murder!

That thought held me anxious and filled me with fear.

The Prefect of Police seemed entirely dissatisfied with my
explanation, nevertheless he was compelled to accept it, and an hour
later I was released from the hospital. Before leaving, however, I was
shown the register in which I had signed my name as "Henry Aitken."
This I erased and substituted my own name.

Then I thanked the tall, thin director and walked out into the streets
of St. Malo a changed man.

CHAPTER THE THIRD

WHO WAS GABRIELLE ENGLEDUE?

What, I wondered, had happened during my month of unconsciousness? I
wandered into a cafe and sat pondering. Afterwards I walked about the
town aimlessly and rather hungry. My own clothes had been returned to
me, but before I assumed them I saw that every mark of identity had
been purposely removed. Even the trousers buttons--which had borne the
name of my tailor, a reputable firm in New Bond Street--had been
substituted.

But by whom?

On the following afternoon I arri