boon companion of Margot,
the queen of the Apaches, and of Anatole de Villon, a cousin of the
greatest scoundrel in Paris. This man Paul had been valet to the real
Lord St. Ulmer, probably engaged in Paris, and went with him to the
Argentine. With him also Paul took the effects and credentials of
another Apache, Ferdinand Lovetski, the maker of that special blacking,
'Jetanola.' He had been killed for refusing to give up to the Apaches
his little fortune, and accordingly, Anatole annexed it without the
permission of Margot, and hence brought down on him her wrath. He
managed to slip away with his master, and whether he had any hand in
killing him in the Argentine, heaven alone knows. What is certain is
that he decided to return to Europe and finally to England as Lord St.
Ulmer, and in this he succeeded. The old solicitor had died. Both you
and your wife had seen but little of St. Ulmer in later years, so that,
armed with all the papers and his own quick wits, it was not so
difficult as you would have imagined. Had it not been for the stray
meeting with Anatole de Villon, who was himself masquerading here as the
Count de Louvisan, all would have gone well. As it was, one rogue
threatened the other, and De Louvisan held the trump cards. It was his
plan to marry Lady Katharine, and St. Ulmer had to submit, for fear not
only that he should be betrayed to the police as an impostor, but in
case Anatole should give him up to Margot. He played on Lady
Katharine's feelings, therefore, so as to make her give up young
Clavering and marry the count. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, at
the last minute De Louvisan quarrelled with him; he had some other
plans, he said, connected with letters----"

"Good heavens! I see now," gasped the General. "De Louvisan played a
double game. Those letters were mine. He had contrived to steal them
from me in Malta. There is really no harm in them, but Marise--Lady
Clavering--and I, had fancied ourselves in love many years ago, and she
was afraid, needlessly perhaps, that Sir Philip Clavering, who is the
very soul of honour himself, would disown her and cut the friendship
between him and myself. We had each found our true mates, and it was an
unutterable shock to both to find that this wretch had threatened to
inform Sir Philip, or else hand over the letters to Margot to publish at
her will. I nearly went mad when Marise told me that she was going to
meet him. I think I went off my head for a