“Why, monsieur?” said Cerizet. “Who are you?”
“Mr. William Barker, a creditor of M. d’Estourny’s; and I can prove to you the necessity for keeping your doors closed if you wish it. We know, monsieur, all about your connections with the Petit-Clauds, the Cointets, and the Sechards of Angouleme——”
On hearing these words, Cerizet rushed to the door and shut it, flew to another leading into a bedroom and bolted it; then he said to the stranger:
“Speak lower, monsieur,” and he studied the sham Englishman as he asked him, “What do you want with me?”
“Dear me,” said William Barker, “every one for himself in this world. You had the money of that rascal d’Estourny.—Be quite easy, I have not come to ask for it; but that scoundrel, who deserves hanging, between you and me, gave me these bills, saying that there might be some chance of recovering the money; and as I do not choose to prosecute in my own name, he told me you would not refuse to back them.”
Cerizet looked at the bills.
“But he is no longer at Frankfort,” said he.
“I know it,” replied Barker, “but he may still have been there at the date of those bills——”
“I will not take the responsibility,” said Cerizet.
“I do not ask such a sacrifice of you,” replied Barker; “you may be instructed to receive them. Endorse them, and I will undertake to recover the money.”