“True, true,” answered Fochard. “I had forgotten that. Then Monsieur Wheelock, I will express myself through you, if you will be so kind, as I speak no English.”
“I shall be pleased to do anything that I can to help the matter along.”
Fochard laughed and patted him upon the back.
“We shall all be pleased to do what we can in this matter,” chuckled he. “Ah, the dispatch must indeed be an important one! Ten thousand pounds in English gold! Think of it. No wonder the rascally Lascar desired to secure it all for himself.”
While he was speaking Fochard led the way into the adjoining room and closing the door, bowed them into chairs with the utmost politeness. The apartment was much smaller than the one they had just left; the walls were lined with walnut cabinets, each numbered and lettered; a desk piled with papers stood beneath a huge, swinging lamp.
“I am most glad,” said Monsieur Fochard, “that this matter came to my notice while there was yet some chance of success.”
Ethan bowed, and repeated the man’s words in English to Longsword. The latter seemed astonished and was about to ask some questions, but a secret signal from Ethan stopped him.
“At first I thought,” said the Frenchman, “that the Lascar would try to sell the paper back to the Americans. And in this I was not very far wrong. He would have endeavored to do so had he not discovered that they could not afford to pay so much for it as the English.”
“How do you manage to find these things out?” asked Ethan curiously.
Fochard laughed, clasped his plump white hands before him and twirled his thumbs.