"Tell me, Monsieur Delanne," I said, "for what reason have you followed me to London?"
He laughed as he strode easily along at my side towards the Duke of York's steps.
"Haven't I already told you that I did not purposely follow you?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, but I don't believe it," was my very frank reply. He had certainly explained that, but his manner was not earnest. I could see that he was only trifling with me, trifling in an easy, good-natured way.
"_Bien!_" he said; "and if I followed you, Monsieur Biddulph, I assert that it is with no sinister intent."
"How do I know that?" I queried. "You are a stranger."
"I admit that. But you are not a stranger to me, my dear monsieur."
"Well, let us come to the point," I said. "What do you want with me?"
"Nothing," he laughed. "Was it not you yourself who addressed me?"
"But you followed me!" I cried. "You can't deny that."
"Monsieur may hold of me whatever opinion he pleases," was Delanne's polite reply. "I repeat my regrets, and I ask pardon."
He spoke English remarkably well. But I recollected that the international thief--the man who is a cosmopolitan, and who commits theft in one country to-night, and is across the frontier in the morning--is always a perfect linguist. Harriman was. Though American, with all his nasal intonation and quaint Americanisms, he spoke half-a-dozen Continental languages quite fluently.
My bitter experiences of the past caused considerable doubt to arise within me. I had had warnings that my mysterious enemies would attack me secretly, by some subtle means. Was this Frenchman one of them?
He saw that I treated him with some suspicion, but it evidently amused him. His face beamed with good-nature.
At the bottom of the broad flight of stairs which lead up to the United Service Club and Pall Mall, I halted.
"Now look here, Monsieur Delanne," I said, much puzzled and mystified by the man's manner and the curious story he had related, "I have neither desire nor inclination for your company further. You understand?"
"Ah, monsieur, a thousand pardons," cried the man, raising his hat and bowing with the elegance of the true Parisian. "I have simply spoken the truth. Did you not put to me questions which I have answered? You have said you are engaged to the daughter of my friend Penning-ton. That has interested me."