ring the past hour, discovered that he had not begun to appraise his
new ally's qualities at their due worth.

"It is a legal habit to state events in their order," he replied
suavely. "But these are matters which we ought to discuss privately."

"No, Marcelle, do not go," said Hermione, hiding her fear under an
assumption of icy indifference, and checking the maid's movement in
response to the lawyer's hint. "Marcelle Leroux is fully in my
confidence," she explained, "and you can say nothing which she may not
listen to."

"I am obliged to your ladyship, but I had to mention her presence,"
said Schmidt. "Well, I am sorry to be the bearer of unpleasant news,
but you were inveigled into a marriage ceremony with John Delancy
Curtis by gross and fraudulent misrepresentation. He told you, I
assume, that Monsieur Jean de Courtois was dead. That is not true.
Monsieur de Courtois is alive, and in his room at the Central Hotel in
27th Street at this moment. He was detained there at the hour you
awaited him--kept there forcibly, by means which must be investigated,
but the really important fact now is that he lives. Need I tell you
what that statement implies? Need I emphasize the lie with which this
man Curtis attained his object? Your father, the Earl, and I myself,
saw Jean de Courtois a few minutes since. Probably, and not without
reason, you doubt my word. If that is so, will you kindly use the
telephone yourself, ring up the Central Hotel, and ask if Monsieur de
Courtois is there? You will hardly imagine that the hotel staff would
enter into a conspiracy with us to deceive you. Again, you might send
for the manager here. He knows me, and will assure you that I am not a
person who would lend himself to subterfuge or falsehood."

"But some man was killed, was he not?"

Hermione's lips had whitened, but her courage was superb, though her
poor heart was like to burst with its frenzied throbbing, for she was
certain this self-possessed man was speaking truly, and, if he were,
her hero with the head of gold had revealed feet of clay.

"Yes, unhappily, a journalist named Hunter."

Schmidt was an artist. He knew when to use few words.

"But Mr. Curtis himself may have been deceived."

"Mr. Curtis was among those who pretended to liberate de Courtois from
his bonds. Your unfortunate friend was brutally tied and gagged in his
room in the hotel, and is now recovering from the effects of the
maltreatment he re