back with a
theatrical start.

"Susette!" he exclaimed. "Susette! And you, sir!" he added, turning
to me.

He slammed the door and stood with his back to it.

"What the devil is the meaning of this?" he asked, looking from one to
the other of us.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"You had better ask mademoiselle," I answered.

"She is, I believe, an acquaintance of yours. As for me--"

"My name is Bartot, sir," he cried fiercely.

"An excellent name," I answered, "but unknown to me. I do not yet
understand by what right you intrude into a private room here."

He laughed hardly.

"'Intrude'!" he cried. "One does not call it that. 'Intrude,' when I
find you two together, eh?"

I turned to the girl, who, with her handkerchief dabbed to her eyes,
was still affecting a perfect frenzy of fear.

"Has this person any claims upon you?" I asked. "He seems to me to be
an exceedingly disagreeable fellow."

Bartot's face grew purple. His cheeks seemed to distend and his eyes
grow smaller. It was no longer necessary for him to play a part. He
was becoming angry indeed.

"Monsieur," he said, "I remember you now. It was you who tried to
flirt with this lady last night in the Cafe des Deux Epingles. You
have not even the excuse of ignorance. All the world knows that I have
claims upon this lady."

I bowed.

"Claims," I answered, "which I can assure you I am not in a position
to dispute."

"How is it, then," he asked fiercely, "that I find you two, strangers
last night, together to-day here?"

I altered one of the cartridges in my revolver and let it go with a
snap. Bartot took a quick step backwards.

"It is a long story," I said softly, "and I doubt whether it would
interest you, Monsieur Bartot. Still, if you are really curious,
mademoiselle will satisfy you later."

I saw a look pass between the two, and I no longer had any doubt
whatever. I knew that they were in collusion, that I had been brought
here to be pumped by mademoiselle.

"Monsieur," Bartot said, "you are apparently armed, and you can leave
this room if you will, but I warn you that you will not leave Paris so
easily."

The situation was quite plain to me. However little flattering it
might be to my vanity, I should not have been in the least surprised
if Monsieur Bartot had held out his hands, begged my pardon, and
ordered a bottle of wine.

"Be reasonable, monsieur," I begged. "It is open to every one, surely,
to admire mademoiselle? For the r