“Bah! I have my eyes open. I know how much to spend on the rogue whose service I hire as a lackey’s; and I know also where to stop. Liancourt,” he added, after a short pause, and in a tone deep with suppressed passion, “when I first saw that man, I thought of appealing to his heart for one who has a claim on it. That was a vain hope. And then there came upon me a sterner and deadlier thought—the scheme of the Avenger! This Lilburne—this rogue whom the world sets up to worship—ruined, body and soul ruined—one whose name the world gibbets with scorn! Well, I thought to avenge that man. In his own house—amidst you all—I thought to detect the sharper, and brand the cheat!”
“You startle me!—It has been whispered, indeed, that Lord Lilburne is dangerous,—but skill is dangerous. To cheat!—an Englishman!—a nobleman!—impossible!”
“Whether he do or not,” returned Vaudemont, in a calmer tone, “I have foregone the vengeance, because he is—”
“Is what?”
“No matter,” said Vaudemont aloud, but he added to himself,—“Because he is the grandfather of Fanny!”
“You are very enigmatical to-day.”
“Patience, Liancourt; I may solve all the riddles that make up my life, yet. Bear with me a little longer. And now can you help me to a lawyer?—a man experienced, indeed, and of repute, but young, active, not overladen with business;—I want his zeal and his time, for a hazard that your monopolists of clients may not deem worth their devotion.”
“I can recommend you, then, the very man you require. I had a suit some years ago at Paris, for which English witnesses were necessary. My avocat employed a solicitor here whose activity in collecting my evidence gained my cause. I will answer for his diligence and his honesty.”
“His address?”
“Mr. Barlow—somewhere by the Strand—let me see—Essex-yes, Essex Street.”