Truly one would not be surprised at any cruel, dastardly action
of a man with such a face--the face of an oppressor.
"Well?" he snapped in French in a high-pitched voice. "You want to see
me concerning that mad English girl? What picturesque lies do you intend
to tell me concerning her?"
"I have no intention of telling any untruths concerning her," was my
quick response, as I faced him unflinchingly. "She has told me
sufficient to--"
"She has told you something! Ah! I guessed as much. I expected this!"
And I saw that his thin, crafty face went pale, while his eyes glanced
evilly upon me. He believed that she had revealed to me her secret. He
placed his hand upon the back of a chair wherein was concealed an
electric button, and next instant a little stout man in shabby black
appeared as though by magic through a secret door hidden in the dark
paneling of the audience chamber--the man who was his personal guard
against the plots for his assassination.
His Excellency spoke, and the words he uttered staggered me.
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