"A slip of a French girl," he muttered contemptuously. "No bigger round than the calf of my leg."
And I suppose he only spoke the truth.
He continued thus to give me much good advice, to which, no doubt, had I been prudent, I should have listened with entire faith. But my friend, like other worldly wiseacres, had many theories which he himself failed to put into practice. And as he spoke there was a twinkle in his eye, and a tone of scepticism in his voice, as if he knew that he was but whistling to the wind.
Then John Turner fell to abusing Miste and Giraud and the late poor Vicomte as a parcel of knaves and fools.
"Here am I," he cried, "with a bundle of my signatures being hawked about the world by a thief, and cannot stop one of them. Every one knows that my paper is good; the drafts will be negotiated from pillar to post like a Bank of England note, and the account will not be closed for years."
It was a vexatious matter for so distinguished a banker to be mixed in, and I could give him but little comfort. While I was still with him, however, a letter was brought to me which enlightened us somewhat. This communication was from my agent Sander, and bore the Brussels postmark.
"This Miste," he wrote, "is no ordinary scoundrel, but one who will want most careful treatment, or we shall lose the whole amount. I have now arrived at the conclusion that he has two accomplices, and one of these in London; for I am undoubtedly watched, and my movements are probably reported to Miste. Yourself and Monsieur Giraud are doubtless under surveillance also. I am always on Miste's heels, but never catch him up. It seems quite clear, from the inconsequence of his movements, that he is endeavouring to meet an accomplice, but that my presence so close upon his heels repeatedly scares them apart. He receives letters and telegrams at the Poste Restante, under the name of Marcel. So close was I upon his track, that at Bruges I caused him to break his appointment by a few hours only. He sent off a telegram, and made himself scarce only two hours before my arrival. This is a large affair, and we must have great patience. In the mean time, I think it probable that Miste will not endeavour to cash any more drafts. He only wants sufficient for current expenses, and will probably endeavour to negotiate the whole amount to some small foreign government in guise of a loan."
"That is what he will do," affirmed John Turner. "Persia or China of a needy South American state."
It pleased me at times to think that I could guess Lucille's thoughts, and indeed she made it plain at this time that she cherished some grudge against me. It was, I suppose, only natural that she should suspect me of lukewarmness in a search which, if successful, would inevitably militate to my own discomfiture. Alphonse Giraud was doubtless awaiting, with a half-concealed impatience, the moment when he might honourably press his suit. Thus, Charles Miste held us all in the hollow of his hand, and the news I had received was as important to others as to myself.
I therefore hurried to Hyde Park Street, and had the good fortune to find all the party within. I made known the contents of Sander's letter, adding thereto, for the benefit of the ladies, John Turner's comments and my own suspicions.