Gerard’s expressive hands mutely protested that it was not their business to think.
“I do what I am ordered to do, sir, without thinking too much. But Monsieur Wilson himself explained his motive to me. He said, ‘I do not like to have practical jokes played on me, and I fancy there are some practical jokers in the cercle.’”
“Did he say cercle or club?”
“Monsieur, he always spoke to me in French. He had spent much time in Paris, he told me once. I believe——” Gerard interrupted himself, as though doubtful whether his belief would be acceptable as evidence. It struck me that he had been a witness in a court of law at some time or other.
Tarleton threw him a friendly nod. “Go on; tell me what you believe.”
“I think,” Gerard corrected himself, “that perhaps Monsieur Wilson founded this club in order to escape the necessity for going to Paris to amuse himself.”
The examiner moved his head doubtfully.
“You think he had some business, then, which made it necessary for him to remain in London.”
“But I am sure of it!” The waiter’s tone became confident. “Business that assisted him in establishing the club, even. The great people who came here were his customers rather than his personal friends; such is my idea.”
Tarleton turned an approving face to us.