“Is he reliable?”
“As much so as myself.”
The stranger, who gave his name as Antonio Le Moyne, was a man somewhat below the medium height. His features were even and delicately molded, and his large, round black eyes beamed with a look of deep intelligence. His beard was black and flowing, and his 145 complexion clear and dark. His air was that of a person extremely well bred. “I will see you again,” he said, after a long and earnest conversation with Scott.
“The groundwork is very slight,” said Scott, “but I will do my best, and perhaps with what evidence you may be able to furnish, we may find something to start on; but of course the utmost caution will be necessary on the part of both of us.”
The stranger bowed and left the room.
“I believe I have seen that face before,” said Scott to himself. “If not, I have seen one very much like it.”
“Who is he?” Paul asked, stepping into the room.
“A gentleman lately from Paris—a Mr. Le Moyne.”
“He is a good English scholar, I judge, from what I heard of his conversation.”
“As good as you or I.”