"Will you favour me, madam, with a moment's conversation?"
Lucille turned round. She recognised at once the man with whom she
had conversed upon the steamer. In the quietest form of evening
dress, there was something noticeable in the man's very
insignificance. He seemed a little out of his element. Lucille
had a sudden inspiration, The man was a detective.
"What do you wish to say?" she asked, half doubtfully.
"I overheard," he remarked, "your order to your maid. She had
something to say to you, but you gave her no opportunity."
"And you?" she asked, "what do you wish to say?"
"I wish to advise you," he said, "not to leave the hotel."
She looked at him doubtfully.
"You cannot understand," she said, "why I wish to leave it. I
have no alternative."
"Nevertheless," he said, "I hope that you will change your mind."
"Are you a detective?" she asked abruptly.
"Madam is correct!"
The flush of colour faded from her cheeks.
"I presume, then," she said, "that I am under your surveillance?"
"In a sense," he admitted, "it is true."
"On the steamer," she remarked, "you spoke as though your interest
in me was not inimical."
"Nor is it," he answered promptly. "You are in a difficult position,
but you may find things not so bad as you imagine. At present my
advice to you is this: Go upstairs to your room and stay there.
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