"If it is to be a duel of wits," she murmured, "between Leopold and Mr. Brodie, do you know, I believe that Leopold will win."
"There is such a thing as over-confidence," he reminded her.
"I have so many ways," she told him, with twinkling eyes, "of diverting these people from the scent. Do you recognise the old lady upon whom I am in attendance to-day, the old lady who went with me into that shop?"
"I have not that pleasure," he replied grimly. "Is she one of the gang?"
"She is a royal princess—the Princess Augusta. If you do not believe me, look in this week's Tatler and you will see her picture—perhaps mine. You are a very funny man, Mr. Aaron Rodd, and you have treated us very badly indeed, but I like you—yes, I like you quite well. How much money did you get for that stone you stole from us?"
The colour mounted mercilessly to his temples. He seemed suddenly bereft of words.
"Do not be foolish," she continued quickly. "Really, as you know, I am an adventuress myself, and I rather admire you both. I think that we ought to make friends. You could be of great service to us. There is no need for us to quarrel because you have had the best of this first little exchange. What do you say to that, my friend?"
Aaron Rodd found himself and became once more a man. He looked her squarely in the eyes.
"I would rather be friends with you," he said, "than any one in the world."
For a moment the triumph was his. It was she who was almost embarrassed by his directness. Then intervention came.