in London
a day earlier."

"Are you so anxious to get away from here, Enid?" he asked, looking
straight into her face.

"Well, yes. Mother, in her letter yesterday, urged me to come home, as
she does not wish me to travel out alone to join Mrs. Caldwell. She's
afraid she will leave London without me if I don't get home at once.
Besides, I've got a lot of shopping to do before I can start. Do let us
get away by the earlier train. It will be so much better," she urged.

As Sir Hugh never denied Enid anything, he acquiesced. Packing was
speedily concluded, and, much to the regret of Blanche, the pair left in
a fly for which they had telephoned to Conflans-Jarny.

The train by which they travelled ran through the beautiful valley of
Manvaux, past the great forts of Plappeville and St. Quentin, and across
the Moselle to Metz, and so into German territory.

Whatever might happen, Sir Hugh reflected, at least he was now safe from
arrest. While Enid, on her part, sat back in the corner of the
first-class compartment gazing out of the window, still mystified by that
strange warning from the man who only a few days previously had so
curiously turned and abandoned her.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE ACCUSERS

AT the same hour when Enid and Sir Hugh were passing Amanvilliers, once
the scene of terrible atrocities by the Huns, Paul Le Pontois, between
two agents of police, was ushered into the private cabinet where, at the
great writing-table near the window, sat a short man with bristling hair
and snow-white moustache, Monsieur Henri Bezard, chief of the Surete
Generale.

A keen-faced, black-eyed man of dapper appearance, wearing the coveted
button of the Legion d'Honneur in his black frock-coat, he looked up
sharply at the man brought into his presence, wished him a curt "bon
jour," and motioned him to a seat at the opposite side of the big table,
in such a position that the grey light from the long window fell directly
upon his countenance.

With him, standing about the big, handsome room with its green-baize
doors and huge oil paintings on the walls, were four elderly men,
strangers to Paul.

The severe atmosphere of that sombre apartment, wherein sat the chief of
the police of the Republic, was depressing. Those present moved
noiselessly over the thick Turkey carpet, while the double windows
excluded every sound from the busy boulevard below.

"Your name," exclaimed the great Bezard sharply, at last raising his eye