"It's an even chance," Dave replied. "Either that young man will go steadily up, or else he will go rapidly down. It is sometimes a terrible thing to be born a gentleman—in the European sense. Few of the Count's friends will appreciate him if he starts in upon a career of effort. But, even though he goes down, he will struggle bravely at the outset. Of that I feel certain."
"I wonder what has become of Gortchky?" remarked Ensign Dalzell.
That industrious spy, however, was no longer the pursued; he had become the pursuer.
From a little distance Gortchky had espied Dave and the Count chatting, and had witnessed the introduction to Dalzell. A man of Mr. Green Hat's experience with the world did not need many glances to assure himself that the Count had lost his last franc at the gambling table.
Gortchky was not at Monte Carlo without abundant assistance. So, as the Count, head down, and reflecting hard, strolled along one of the paths, a man bumped into him violently.
"Ten thousand pardons, Monsieur!" cried the bumper, in a tone of great embarrassment. "It was stupid of me. I—"
"Have no uneasiness, my friend," smiled the Count. "It was I who was stupid. I should have looked where I was going."
Courteous bows were exchanged, and the two separated. But the man who had bumped into the Count now carried inside his sleeve the Count's empty wallet, which was adorned with the crest of Surigny.
This wallet was promptly delivered to another. Five minutes later, as the Count strolled along, Emil Gortchky called out behind him:
"Monsieur! Pardon me, but I think you must have dropped your wallet."