"I have plenty of money," said the negro with gravity. "I have my own money, so it is easy for me to search for my master."
"He may not be in Paris," said Cyril hastily; "that is only a guess on my part. Before searching for him over there, it will be best for you to assist me in looking for him in this district. He may be in hiding."
Durgo pondered, then returned to lie full-length on the grass. "I think that my master would have run further away after killing Captain Huxham," he said reflectively; "he is very cunning, is Edwin Lister. And, of course, he would have the money."
"What money?" asked Bella impatiently.
"The money for which he killed Captain Huxham."
"The sum stolen was only worth a trifle: one hundred pounds is the amount."
"Oh!" Durgo opened his eyes. "And my master wanted five thousand. It is a very difficult expedition right into the centre of Nigeria, and one hundred pounds is of no use. I could have lent that amount to Edwin Lister myself. Hai!"—he nursed his chin in his hand—"what you say, missy, makes me think that my master is waiting here to get the money for which he killed Captain Huxham."
"My aunt, Mrs. Rosamund Vand, has both the money and the estate."
"Then Edwin Lister will wait and see her," said Durgo gravely. "I must learn where he is hiding," and he half rose again.
Cyril put out one slim hand to prevent him. "Wait for one moment," he said quietly, "you must hear what I have to say, and then we can arrange what to do. Durgo, you loved my father?"