"Perfectly," said Stewart, who was thoroughly enjoying himself. "By the way, Mary," he added, "no doubt it was your shoes and stockings I found in my grip awhile ago," and he pointed to where the slippers stood side by side.

His companion stared at them for an instant in amazement, then burst into a peal of laughter.

"How ridiculous! But yes—they were intended for mine."

"How did they get into my luggage?"

"The woman who manages this inn placed them there. She is one of us."

"But what on earth for?"

"So that the police might find them when they searched your bags."

"Why should they search my bags?"

"There is a certain suspicion attaching to this place. It is impossible altogether to avoid it—so it is necessary to be very careful. The landlady thought that the discovery of the slippers might, in a measure, prepare the police for the arrival of your wife."

"Then she knew you were coming?"

"Certainly—since last night."

"And when the man who was to meet you did not arrive, she decided that I would do?"

"I suppose so."

"But how did she know I had a passport?"

"Perhaps you told her."

Yes, Stewart reflected, he had told her, and yet he was not altogether satisfied. When had he told her? Surely it was not until he returned from his tour of the town; then there was not time——

"Here is your passport," said his companion, abruptly breaking in upon his thoughts. "Fold it up and place it in your pocket. And do not find it too readily when the police ask for it. You must seem not to know exactly where it is. Also pack your belongings. Yes, you would better include the slippers. Meanwhile I shall try to make myself a little presentable," and she opened the tiny bag from which she had produced the pen.

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