I found Wilson, costumed a little outre, in a “fast” dancing-room of the French capital. A gendarme pointed him out as a new arrival. An inspection of my photograph satisfied me of his identity.
I accosted him as “Mr. Wilson?”
“That’s my name.”
“I know it perfectly well. I want to speak with you.”
“Who are you? What’s your name? What have you got to say to me?”
“If you step aside to the other end of the gallery, and leave this pretty little lady here, I’ll tell you.”
“You be—“
I stopped the remainder of the sentence by a look which terrified him.
I whispered in his ear that I wanted him, and should, if he did not obey me, call upon the police, who were in force in and about this haunt of folly and vice, to arrest him, on a charge of robbing his employers, the —— Railway Company, of 2310l. 18s. 6d.; but that if he followed me back to his hotel, and from thence to London, he would have an opportunity of rendering any explanation of the case which lay in his power.
He extricated himself from his frail companion, and we proceeded together to the end of the gallery, where conversation, unheard by the disinterested, was possible; and I told him in greater detail the circumstances of the robbery. He naturally denied all knowledge of the affair; said he was entirely unable to account for it; and, although it was plain to see the terror inspired by a bare suspicion against him, he expressed an ardent wish to return with me to England, and lend all the assistance he could in the discovery of the culprits.