"You shall never regret this decision, Gerald, never--_never_!"

For fully an hour we sat together, our tea untouched, so preoccupied were we with the burden of our hearts; then, declaring that Aunt Hetty would miss her, she reluctantly rose. When I had put her cape round her shoulders, we went downstairs together, I having promised to accompany her in a fiacre as far as the Grand Hotel.

Just as we were about to step into the street, I encountered Kaye, who evidently wished to have a word with me. As he raised his hat, I noticed how intently he was examining my companion's face; then he pa.s.sed us and entered the wide hall leading to the stairs. A moment later, however, he turned suddenly, and said:

"Excuse me, Mr. Ingram, might I speak with you for one moment? I see you are going out."

"Certainly," I answered; and after excusing myself to Edith I moved off a few paces with him.

The words he uttered were spoken in a whisper. They startled me:

"Have a care, Mr. Ingram," he said meaningly. "We know that woman!"

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

KAYE IS PUZZLED.

Having seen Edith as far as the Grand Hotel, I re-entered the fiacre and at once drove back to my own rooms, where I found the chief of the secret service awaiting me.

"What do you mean by saying that you know that lady?" I inquired breathlessly.

"Simply that we know her, that's all," he replied, with an air of mystery.

"Look here, Kaye," I said, "just tell me plainly and straightforwardly what you know regarding her?"

"She's a person to be avoided, that's all."

"To be avoided!" I echoed. "Why, surely she has no connection with the persons you are watching? She lives in Norfolk, in a little country village, and scarcely ever comes abroad."

"I know it," he answered with his sphinx-like smile. "She lives at Great Ryburgh, near Fakenham, is in possession of a fair income, and has a maiden aunt as companion."

"How did you know that?" I demanded in surprise.

"It is our duty to know all who are the enemies of England."

"And is she an enemy?"

"Most certainly," he replied.

"I can't believe it, Kaye!" I cried, aghast. "I won't believe it!

First you tell me that Yolande de Foville is a spy, and now you denounce Edith Austin."

"I only tell you the truth," he answered, leaning against the table and folding his arms.

"Then as you know so much about her, you probably know our relationship," I said, rather annoyed that this ubiquitous man, whose proclivities for fathoming a secret were prodigious, should have watched her.

"I am quite well aware of it, Mr. Ingram," he responded; "and if I might be allowed to advise you, I should end it at once. It is dangerous."

"Why?"

"Because she is playing you false."

"How do you know that?"

"By the same means that I know she is working against us--and against you. If you knew the facts they would astound you. Even I, with all my experience of the ways of felons and spies, was dumbfounded when I learnt the truth."

"But can't you see that it's ridiculous to ask me to cast her aside without giving me any plain and ample reason?"

"The reason is certainly sufficient," he replied.

"What is it?"

"You visited her at Ryburgh some months ago, and suspected her of having a secret lover. Is not that so?"

"Extraordinary!" I gasped. "How did you know that? You set your spies upon me!" I added angrily.

"No, not upon you," he said. "She was already under observation."

"Why?"

"Because of some suspicion that had been aroused regarding the Ceuta incident."

"Nonsense!" I cried, unable to believe his allegation. "What possible connection could she have with that?"

"A rather intimate one, judging from the result of our inquiries."

"In what manner?"

"Well, as a secret agent."

"In the employ of whom?"

"Of France."

"Of France?" I echoed. "Impossible!"

"My dear Mr. Ingram," he protested, "I'm not in the habit of misleading you or of making statements which I can't substantiate. I repeat that Miss Edith Austin, the lady who has been here with you this afternoon, is a French agent."

"I can't believe it!" I gasped, utterly staggered. "Why, she's a simple, charming English girl, leading a quiet life in that sleepy little village, and scarcely seeing anybody for weeks together."

"Exactly. I don't deny that. But as her affection for you is prompted by ulterior motives--pray pardon me for saying so--you should be forewarned; and this is the more desirable in view of the fact which you yourself discovered."

"What fact?"

"That she has a secret lover."

"Ah!" I cried eagerly. "Tell me, who is he?"