"You will be there to-morrow afternoon, please," he begged, "and you will give me the rose from your waistband."
She laughed uneasily.
"If the rose will buy your departure—" she began.
"It may do that," he interrupted, as he drew it through his buttonhole, "but it will assuredly bring me back again."
Richard walked down the hill, whistling softly to himself and with a curious light in his eyes. As he reached the square in front of the Casino, he was accosted by a stranger who stood in the middle of the pavement and respectfully removed his hat.
"You are Mr. Richard Lane, is it not so, monsieur?"
"You've guessed it in one," Richard admitted. "Have I ever seen you before?"
"Never, monsieur, unless you happened to notice me on your visit to the prison. I have an official position in the Principality. I am commissioned to speak to you with respect to the little affair in which you were concerned at La Turbie."
"Well, I thought we'd thrashed all that out," Lane replied. "Anyway, Sir Henry Hunterleys and I have engaged a lawyer to look after our interests."