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Rh this very belief only sufficed to perplex her the more after Denys' story.

"One question more I must put. Do you know if he was ever at Cambrai? Do not answer against your will, nor if you cannot speak truly on your honour."

"I can answer that, frankly. I have known him many years, and can say that until within the last few days, never. We passed through the place in coming here."

"Then is the puzzle inscrutable!" exclaimed Lucette. Denys had told her of the murder at Cambrai, the pardon for which was part of the price to be paid to de Cobalt, and had spoken of a letter which he had found that put the thing plainly. He had been in the act of telling her where the paper was concealed, that she might get it and carry it to Gabrielle, when the relapse had prevented further speech.

"I know not what to do," she cried, in sore perplexity and distress. "If I trust you, others are sadly misled. And yet I believe you have not deceived me."

"On my honour I have spoken no more than the truth," said Pascal earnestly. He was as much puzzled as Lucette herself. "If you would deal with me frankly, and say"

"I cannot; I cannot," she broke in excitedly.

"Then may I suggest you speak to M. de Cobalt?"

"You know not what you say. But the matter must be probed to the bottom;" and afraid to say more she left him and hurried back to Denys' bedside.

Pascal looked after her, nodded once or twice in answer to his thoughts, and then, with a quizzical smile, muttered, as he turned back to his room—

"Now is the devil about to claim some of his dues for this mad business. I must find Gerard and tell him."

They had scarcely parted when the face of the spy Jacques Dauban peeped cautiously round an angle of the