And Isidore pulled at his cigar thoughtfully. He seemed so strong and confident that Hetty was strangely comforted.
"I thought I could rely upon you," she said gratefully. "Mr. Isidore, you have taken a great load from my mind."
Isidore finished his cigar, after which he took a frugal omnibus to the City, getting down in the neighbourhood of Cheapside. He found himself presently in a dingy office off Ironmonger Lane, and face to face with a fat, oily man, who recognized him with a mixture of admiration and apprehension.
"It's about that business of Dr. Gordon Bruce," Isidore said curtly. "Now, my friend Wolffman, you know me and I know you. I don't want to ruin you body and bones, but I shall do so unless you listen to reason. You are going to write to Dr. Bruce, and tell him the matter shall stand over for the present----"
"But my principal!" gasped Wolffman. "The lady who is paying me----"
"To ruin Dr. Bruce," Isidore said, as coolly as if a great light had not suddenly broken in upon him. "So your friend is in London?"
Wolffman wriggled uneasily. He wanted to lie badly, but with those eyes upon him he could not do so.
"She was yesterday," he stammered.
"Ah, then, you must dissemble with her. Tell her any lie you like so long as you let Dr. Bruce alone. I guessed there was some scheme on hand when I heard that you had written to the Doctor. Goodbye, Wolffman, and recollect that your ruin or otherwise depends upon yourself."
Isidore went out smiling blandly. He had made a great discovery.