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Updated: September 3, 2025
Andre Duchemin was the name inscribed in the credentials furnished him in recognition of signal assistance rendered the British Secret Service in its task of scotching the Prussian spy system. And the personality he chose to assume suited well the name.
Then the tall man consulted the beautiful lady as to her preference, and Duchemin caught the words "madame la comtesse" spoken in the rasping nasal drawl of an American. Evidently a person of rich humour, the speaker: "madame la comtesse" was abruptly convulsed with laughter; the chubby gentleman roared; Mr.
Could one require proof that one was followed?" "Then you think somebody of the Préfecture recognized Duchemin in you?" "Who knows? I know I was followed, watched. If you ask me, I think Paris is not a healthy place for me." "But all that," Liane objected, "does not bring you here!" "Patience: I am well on my way."
"They have not yet arrived; we may expect them at any moment now." "I see," said Duchemin thoughtfully; and then "May I suggest that we continue our conversation in English. One never knows who may overhear..." Her eyebrows lifted a little, but she adopted the suggestion without other demur. "The servants?" He nodded: "Or anybody." "Then you have guessed ?" "Broadly speaking, everything, I fancy.
For his part Duchemin was unable to accept any possible scientific explanation, and will go to his grave believing that some half-witted cyclops, back beyond the dimmest dawn of Time, created Montpellier-le-Vieux in an hour of idleness, building him a play city of titanic monoliths, then wandered away and forgot it altogether.
"That we have met before, when I term you a complete stranger?" "Well... yes." "It is because I would not be in monsieur's debt!" "Pardon?" "I will repay sympathy with sympathy. I have already forgotten that I ever visited the Château de Montalais. So how should I remember I met monsieur there under the name of... but I forget." "The name of Duchemin?"
Then its owner was setting into place beside Madame de Sévénié, and Duchemin clambering up to his on the box. The road proved quite as rough and declivitous as its reputation. One surmised that the Spring rains had found it in a bad way and done nothing to better its condition.
The papers of André Duchemin were crisp black ashes in the fireplace of the room which Lanyard had just quitted, all but the letter of credit; and this last was enclosed in an envelope, to be sent to London by registered post with a covering note to request that the unpaid balance be forwarded in French bank-notes to Monsieur Paul Martin, poste restante, Paris; Paul Martin being the name which appeared on an entirely new set of papers of identification which Lanyard had thoughtfully secreted in the lining of the tweed coat before leaving London.
As for the Montalais robbery it was not even mentioned. The restricted size imposed upon French newspapers by the paper shortage of those days crowded out of their columns everything but news in true sense, and there could be none of that in connection with the Montalais affair until either André Duchemin had been arrested or the jewels recovered from the real thief or thieves.
But the bow with which he also acknowledged the presence of Eve was hardly less profound; Duchemin himself, at his best, could hardly have bettered it.
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