which he mentions passing. The last moment
that he can be accounted for is when a cabman, who'd taken him up at the
hotel just after he left us, set him down in the Rue de Courbvoie, not
so very far from the Elysee Palace. Then it was only between five and
ten minutes past twelve, so he could easily have gone on to the Rue de
la Fille Sauvage afterwards and killed his man at the time when the
doctors say the fellow must have died. It's a bad scrape. But of course
Dundas will get out of it somehow or other, in the end."

"Do _you_ think he will, Eric?" asked Aunt Lil.

"I hope so with all my heart," he answered. But his face showed that he
was deeply troubled, and my heart sank down--down.

As I realised more and more the danger in which Ivor stood, my
resentment against him began to seem curiously trivial. Nothing had
happened to make me feel that I had done him an injustice in thinking he
cared more for Maxine de Renzie than for me--indeed, on the contrary,
everything went to prove his supreme loyalty to her whose name he had
refused to speak, even for the sake of clearing himself. Still, now that
the world was against him, my soul rushed to stand by his side, to
defend him, to give him love and trust in spite of all.

Down deep in my heart I forgave him, even though he had been cruel, and
I yearned over him with an exceeding tenderness. More than anything on
earth, I wanted to help him; and I meant to try. Indeed, as the talk
went on while that terrible meal progressed, I thought I saw a way to do
it, if Lisa and I should act together.

I was so anxious to have a talk with her that I could hardly wait to get
back to our own hotel, from the Ritz. Fortunately, nobody wanted to sit
long at lunch, so it wasn't yet three when I called her into my room.
The men had gone to make different arrangements about starting, for we
were not to leave Paris until they had had time to do something for
Ivor. Uncle Eric went to see the British Ambassador, and Aunt Lilian had
said that she would be busy for at least an hour, writing letters and
telegrams to cancel engagements we had had in London. For awhile Lisa
and I were almost sure not to be interrupted; but I spoke out abruptly
what was in my mind, not wishing to lose a minute.

"I think the only thing for us to do," I said, "is to tell what we know,
and save Ivor in spite of himself."

"How can anything you know save him?" she asked, with a queer, faint
emphasis which I didn