"I have lost the money, certainly," said Beecot, lighting his lamp, "but the wife will be mine as soon as I can save sufficient to give her a better home than this."
Monsieur le Comte de la Tour sat down and gracefully flung open his overcoat, so as to expose a spotless shirt front. "What?" he asked, lifting his darkened eyebrows, "so you mean to marry that girl?"
"Of course," said Paul, angrily; "do you think I'm a brute?"
"But the money?"
"What does that matter. I love her, not the money."
"And the name. Her birth—"
"I'll give her my own name and then we'll see who will dare to say a word against my wife."
Hurd stretched out his hand, and, grasping that of Beecot's, shook it warmly. "Upon my word you are a man, and that's almost better than being a gentleman," he said heartily. "I've heard everything from Mr. Pash, and I honor you Mr. Beecot—I honor you."
Paul stared. "You must have been brought up in a queer way, Hurd," he said drily, "to express this surprise because a man acts as a man and not as a blackguard."
"Ah, but you see in my profession I have mixed with blackguards, and that has lowered my moral tone. It's refreshing to meet a straight, honorable man such as you are, Mr. Beecot. I liked you when first I set eyes on you, and determined to help you to discover the assassin of Aaron Norman—"