aved his hands as if he implored the other, to have
done with giving and taking offence. There was some misunderstanding
somewhere, he realized, and sheer astonishment had cooled his anger. His
only aim now was to have this obscure thing made clear.

"No, no," he cried. "I am seeking enlightenment."

Florimond smiled.

"I may have said that we were detained by a fever; but I never said the
patient was myself."

"Who then? Who else?" cried Garnache.

"Why, now I understand, monsieur. But it is my wife who has the fever."

"Your--!" Garnache dared not trust himself to utter the word.

"My wife, monsieur," the Marquis repeated. "The journey proved too much
for her, travelling at the rate she did."

A silence fell. Garnache's long chin sank on to his breast, and he stood
there, his eyes upon the tablecloth, his thoughts with the poor innocent
child who waited at Condillac, so full of trust and faith and loyalty to
this betrothed of hers who had come home with a wife out of Italy.

And then, while he stood so and Florimond was regarding him curiously,
the door opened, and the host appeared.

"Monsieur le Marquis," said he, "there are two gentlemen below asking to
see you. One of them is Monsieur Marius de Condillac."

"Marius?" cried the Marquis, and he started round with a frown.

"Marius?" breathed Garnache, and then, realizing that the assassins
had followed so close upon his heels, he put all thoughts from his mind
other than that of the immediate business. He had, himself, a score
to settle with them. The time was now. He swung round on his heel, and
before he knew what he had said the words were out:

"Bring them up, Monsieur l'Hote."

Florimond looked at him in surprise.

"Oh, by all means, if monsieur wishes it," said he, with a fine irony.

Garnache looked at him, then back at the hesitating host.

"You have heard," said he coolly. "Bring them up."

"Bien, monsieur," replied the host, withdrawing and closing the door
after him.

"Your interference in my affairs grows really droll, monsieur," said the
Marquis tartly.

"When you shall have learned to what purpose I am interfering, you'll
find it, possibly, not quite so droll," was the answer, no less tart.
"We have but a moment, monsieur. Listen while I tell you the nature of
their errand."

CHAPTER XXI. THE GHOST IN THE CUPBOARD

Garnache had but a few minutes in which to unfold his story, and he
needed, in addition, a second or two