ce--to force from his lips the truth,
to compel him to answer to me.

And with that object I waited--waited in the cold and rain for three long
hours, until at last the great doors were closed and locked for the
night, and people ascended those steps no longer.

Then I turned away faint and disheartened, chilled to the bone, and
wearied out. A few steps along the Boulevard brought me to the hotel,
where I ate some dinner, and retired to my room to fling myself upon the
couch and think.

Why was Phrida in such fear lest I should meet the man who held her so
mysteriously and completely in his power? What could she fear from our
meeting if she were, as I still tried to believe, innocent?

Again, was it possible that after their dastardly attempt upon my life,
Mrs. Petre and her accomplices had fled to join the fugitive? Were they
with him? Perhaps so! Perhaps they were there in Brussels!

The unfortunate victim, Marie Bracq, had probably been a Belgian. Bracq
was certainly a Belgian name.

The idea crossed my mind to go on the following day to the central Police
Bureau I had noticed in the Rue de la Regence, and make inquiry whether
they knew of any person of that name to be missing. It was not a bad
suggestion, I reflected, and I felt greatly inclined to carry it out.

Next day, I was up early, but recognised the futility of watching at the
Poste Restante until the daylight faded. On the other hand, if Mrs.
Petre was actually in that city, she would have no fear to go about
openly. Yet, after due consideration, I decided not to go to the post
office till twilight set in.

The morning I spent idling on the Boulevards and in the cafes, but I
became sick of such inactivity, for I was frantically eager and anxious
to learn the truth.

At noon I made up my mind, and taking a taxi, alighted at the Prefecture
of Police, where, after some time, I was seen by the _Chef du Surete_, a
grey-haired, dry-as-dust looking official--a narrow-eyed little man, in
black, whose name was Monsieur Van Huffel, and who sat at a writing-table
in a rather bare room, the walls of which were painted dark green. He
eyed me with some curiosity as I entered and bowed.

"Be seated, I pray, m'sieur," he said in French, indicating a chair on
the opposite side of the table, and leaning back, placed his fingers
together in a judicial attitude.

The police functionary on the continent is possessed of an ultra-grave
demeanour, and is always of a f