“They have not really worried us much,” said Hipolyte. “In fact, but for Monsieur le Comte’s warning, I should never have guessed that stranger at the wine-shop to be what he was.”

The hall bell pealed and Hipolyte, in a grave and decorous manner, went to open the door.

“ M. le Comte, I regret to say, is not at home.”

The little man with the large moustaches beamed placidly.

“I know that,” he replied. “You are Hipolyte Flavelle, are you not?”

“Yes, Monsieur, that is my name.”

“And you have a wife, Marie Flavelle?”

“Yes, Monsieur, but⁠—”