“Ah!”
There was something in the Vicomte's expressive voice that made Signor Bruno look at him sharply with some apprehension.
“Why do you say that?”
The Vicomte countered with another question.
“Who is this Mr. Bodery?”
He gave a little jerk with his head in the direction of the house he had just left.
“I do not know.”
“I was told last night that he was a friend of this Christian Vellacott—a protector.”
The two Frenchmen looked at each other in silence. Signor Bruno was evidently alarmed—his lips were white and unsteady. There was a smile upon the bird-like face of the younger man, and behind his spectacles his eyes glittered with an excitement in which there was obviously no fear.
“Do you know,” he asked in a disagreeably soft manner, “where Christian Vellacott is?”