“I’m confirmed in my belief that he was French,” declared Madeline. “He certainly must have plenty of friends in Paris. He probably was in hiding in Australia while one of his bold, bad adventures was being forgotten over here.”
“Then he must have been there some little time,” said Billy, “for his stories certainly had local color all right. But I don’t think I should depend much on his advice if I were John Morton. John and he got quite chummy over the prospects for sheep-raising out there. By the way, John ought to be over here before long. Won’t it be fun springing all this on him?”
“The best of it is,” said Madeline, “that the more you think about it the nicer it gets. It’s all so clever and finished—and—well, typically adventurous, from the minute he inquired of you about that London Club until he vanished down the passage at the Louvre this afternoon. It’s so interesting to wonder what he thought and how he felt as he played his cool little game.”
“Only it wasn’t a game,” Babe objected. “It was business. Think of making friends with people just so you can rob them afterward! I always thought chewing gum was about the silliest kind of a business, but I’d rather have my father in chewing gum than in adventures.”
Mrs. Hildreth came into the garden just then and the girls pounced upon her with their exciting story, making Billy stay to dinner to help them tell it properly. At her plate Betty found a letter which had been sent direct to the pension instead of to the express office.
“I wonder who knows I’m here,” she said, tearing open the envelope, which was addressed in a strange hand.
“Probably an advertisement,” suggested Madeline.
THE GIRLS POUNCED UPON HER
But it wasn’t. It was Betty’s letter to John Morton, with “not found” written boldly across the address.