“What are you going to do when Mr. Heilbronner has signed? I suppose he will sign the papers?”
“I fancy he will. Mr. Beale is the strong man in that team.” And Christine did not notice that he left the first part of her sentence unanswered.
“And what about that clerk?”
“Daru? Oh! M. Bonnot is letting him off very well. He will have to leave his present post, of course, but a place will be found for him at Lyons, where he can work up again. Mr. Beale offered what was a fortune to him, and he has a wife in hospital, so altogether M. Bonnot inclined to a very merciful view of things.”
Christine herself waited in desperate anxiety. She could not go to England without knowing. The slip with “Yes” had been despatched to Carter, but she had been told to say nothing of the unexpected turn of events which Mr. Beale's detection had brought about.
The next day's post brought the papers signed by Mr. Heilbronner. Mr. Beale delivered the papers to M. Meunier with a wry smile.
“Satisfied now? Can I go to my hotel and leave this blank, blanked country?”
M. Meunier nodded, and Mr. Beale stalked from the room and drove off to his own suite in the Meurice. As he entered his sitting-room a figure rose from a chair. It was Pointer.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Beale.”
“What does this mean? What the devil are you doing in my rooms?” There was no mistaking the fact that Mr. Beale's nerves were getting frayed.