Gianapolis or Ionagis. Why, God almighty! while we are talking here, my daughter”…
“Morbleu! who talks of arresting Gianapolis?” inquired the voice of a man who silently had entered the room.
All turned their heads; and there in the doorway stood M. Gaston Max.
“Thank God you’ve come!” said Dunbar with sincerity. He dropped back into his chair, a strong man exhausted. “This case is getting beyond me!”
Denise Ryland was staring at the Frenchman as if fascinated. He, for his part, having glanced around the room, seemed called upon to give her some explanation of his presence.
“Madame,” he said, bowing in his courtly way, “only because of very great interests did I dare to conceal my true identity. My name is Gaston, that is true, but only so far as it goes. My real name is Gaston Max, and you who live in Paris will perhaps have heard it.”
“Gaston Max!” cried Denise Ryland, springing upright as though galvanized; “you are M. Gaston Max! But you are not the least bit in the world like”…
“Myself?” said the Frenchman, smiling. “Madame, it is only a man fortunate enough to possess no enemies who can dare to be like himself.”
He bowed to her in an oddly conclusive manner, and turned again to Inspector Dunbar.
