Saint-Péray’s fluttering hands went feebly about his neck.
“I have saved a life? O, God, dear Gaston, tell me that I have saved a life!” he whispered in wild emotion.
Cartouche, glaring around, caught sudden sight of Bonito standing slack-jawed in the gloom. The doctor, seeing himself discovered, came forward.
“Hist!” he muttered. “Our friend is in a poor way, Mr Trix, and needs looking after. Get him to come outside with us.”
“You have certainly saved a life, brother,” murmured Cartouche—“though, I am afraid, not a very worthy one.” Then he said aloud: “To pass, by your favour, gentlemen! But deal gently with my character, I beg you. I am still in evidence to answer for it.”
CHAPTER II
“Under the Porticoes,” in the thronged fashionable heart of Turin, two men met by appointment before the city was well awake. Their encounter was sharp, to the point, and made nothing of superfluous courtesies.
“By your favour, Mr Trix,” opened one, “we will eschew idle discussion of coincidences. All roads lead to Rome. I am here; you are here; he is here; and we have gravitated naturally into each other’s company. What have you done with him?”
“Why do you want to know, friend Bonito?”
“Is not that rather amusing? I encounter him; we renew an intimacy; in the middle of it you appear, and appropriate him to your exclusive possession.”