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Updated: June 1, 2025
There was a reason why on the Continent and elsewhere he should pass as Mr. Maltwood, but his friends could never discover it, so carefully did he conceal it. Walter Fetherston was a writer of breathless mystery but he was the essence of mystery himself. Once the reader took up a book of his he never laid it down until he had read the final chapter.
At the little old-world Croix-Blanche at Briey a stout, middle-aged, ruddy-faced English tourist had had his headquarters; while, again, at the unpretending Cloche d'Or in the Place St. Paul at Verdun another Englishman, a young, active, clean-shaven man, had been moving about the country in constant communication with "Mr. Maltwood."
And so once again he changed his identity from John Maltwood, busy man of business, to Walter Fetherston, novelist and traveller. The seriousness of what was in progress was now plain to him. He had long been filled with strong suspicions, and these suspicions had been confirmed both by Enid's statements and his own observations; therefore he was already alert and watchful.
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