CHAPTER X
THE TWO FRENCHMEN
"You must be mad, Cyril! No sane man could have got into such a mess!" cried Guy Campbell, excitedly pounding his fat knee with his podgy hand.
Cyril had been so disturbed by the finding of the Wilmersley jewels that he had at last decided that he must confide his troubles to some one. He realised that the time had come when he needed not only advice but assistance. He was now so convinced that he was being watched that he had fled to his club for safety. There, at all events, he felt comparatively safe from prying eyes, and it was there in a secluded corner that he poured his tale of woe into his friend's astonished ears.
"You must be mad," the latter repeated.
"If that is all you can find to say, I am sorry I told you," exclaimed Cyril irritably.
"It's a jolly good thing you did! Why, you are no more fit to take care of yourself than a new-born baby." Guy's chubby face expressed such genuine concern that Cyril relaxed a little.
"Perhaps I've been a bit of an ass, but really I don't see what else I could have done."
"No, don't suppose you do," said Guy, regarding Cyril with pitying admiration.