“Oh, I enjoy that. It makes a break. Mrs. Aviolet, have you ever wanted adventures?”
“Heaps of times,” said Rose heartily.
“So have I,” said Felix wistfully. “I often think what it’d be like, if I went out as a cowboy, or something, to the Wild West, or even if I went in for seeing life a bit in London, the way Mr. Millar does.”
He looked at Rose with a strange gleam in his pallid eyes.
“Have you ever read ‘Frank Belloment, the Gentleman Crook’? I don’t suppose you have. I know ladies don’t care for that kind of reading, but it’s great, really it is.”
“I’m fond of a good murder, myself,” Rose admitted. She had shared with her mother, from a very early age, an impassioned interest in the more sensational items of police-court news as reported in the illustrated press.
“Belloment doesn’t go in for murders, only big jewel hauls, or financial coups. As a matter of fact, the book makes out that this Belloment, that I’m telling you about, he never took things from poor people, but only from the rich, that have more than they want. That’s why they call him the Gentleman Crook. And he goes into Society, too, and that’s where he finds out about people’s jewellery.”
“Where is this book?” Rose demanded.
Felix produced from his pocket a paper volume. “There’s one comes out every week. And sometimes they have a story about fellows going out gold-digging, or convicts escaping from prison, and once there was a boy ran away from a shop and went to sea, and I couldn’t help thinking it might very well all be true. Didn’t Mr. Millar go to sea once?”
“Yes, but I bet he doesn’t like talking about it,” said Rose shrewdly. “He’s done well for himself, since those days.”