“Without one word.”
“Without leaving any money, perhaps?”
“We found only an insignificant sum after he left.” The editor of “The Pilot” made a gesture of ironical admiration. “Well, the thing is complete,” he said; “and Vincent is a smarter fellow than I gave him credit for; or else he must have cared more for those infernal women of his than any one supposed.”
M. de Tregars, who had remained hitherto silent, now stepped forward.
“What women?” he asked.
“How do I know?” he replied roughly. “How could any one ever find out any thing about a man who was more hermetically shut up in his coat than a Jesuit in his gown?”
“M. Costeclar—”
“That’s another nice bird! Still he may possibly have discovered something of Vincent’s life; for he led him a pretty dance. Wasn’t he about to marry Mlle. Favoral once?”
“Yes, in spite of herself even.”
“Then you are right: he had discovered something. But, if you rely on him to tell you anything whatever, you are reckoning without your host.”