“One word more,” he said confidentially. “When I last saw Miss Halcombe, she looked thin and ill. I am anxious about that admirable woman. Take care of her, sir! With my hand on my heart, I solemnly implore you, take care of Miss Halcombe!”

Those were the last words he said to me before he squeezed his huge body into the cab and drove off.

The agent and I waited at the door a few moments looking after him. While we were standing together, a second cab appeared from a turning a little way down the road. It followed the direction previously taken by the Count’s cab, and as it passed the house and the open garden gate, a person inside looked at us out of the window. The stranger at the Opera again!⁠—the foreigner with a scar on his left cheek.

“You wait here with me, sir, for half an hour more!” said Monsieur Rubelle.

“I do.”