"Del Monte?"
We explained that Del Monte was a huge hotel standing in lovely gardens which ran down to the sea.
"Jamais--jamais," repeated the Baron.
"We don't like to leave you at the mercy of John Jacob Dumble," said Ajax.
"You have right. I make not harmony wiz ze old man Dumble."
We went home sorely puzzled. Obviously the Baron had private reasons, and strong ones, for keeping out of San Francisco and Del Monte. And it was significant--as Ajax said to me--that a man who could talk so admirably upon art, politics, and literature never spoke a word concerning himself.
At Del Monte we happened to meet the French Consul. From him we learned that there was a certain Réné, Comte de Bourgueil-Crotanoy. The Château Bourgueil-Crotanoy in Morbihan is nearly as famous as Chaumont or Chénonceau. The Consul possessed an Almanack de Gotha. From this we gleaned two more facts. Réné, Comte de Bourgueil, had two sons, and no kinsmen whatever.
"Your man," said the Consul discreetly, "must be somebody--you say he is somebody--well, somebody else!"
"Another Wilkins," said I.
"Pooh!" ejaculated Ajax.