"Ah!" he said, "young Howard. Come to lunch, I suppose. You look hungry—gad, what a twist you had that day! Just in time. I can tell you what is worth eating."
"Thanks; you know such advice is wasted on a country boor like myself. No; I came seeking the Vicomte de Clericy. Have you seen him?"
"Ah! you are still with old Clericy; thought you were up to some mischief—so d—d quiet. Then Mademoiselle is kind?"
"Mademoiselle is away," I answered. "Do you know anything of the Baron Giraud?"
"Do I know anything of the devil," growled John Turner, returning to the perusal of his newspaper. "Are he and old Clericy putting their heads together? I would not trust Giraud with ten sous so far as the club door."
"Exactly!"
"Then he and old Clericy are at it—are they?" said John Turner, looking at me over the Times with his twinkling eyes. "And you, Monsieur, le secrétaire, are anxious about your patron. Ha, ha! You have a lot to learn yet, Master Dick."
I looked impatiently at the clock. Twenty minutes had already been wasted in my fruitless search.
"Then you haven't seen de Clericy?"
"No—my good boy—I haven't. And if you cannot find him you may be sure that it is because he does not want to be found."