It was a bargain she proposed-the impertinence of it! It was a bargain she proposed-the value of it! In that shape ran Harry Wethermill’s thoughts. He was in desperate straits, though to the world’s eye he was a man of wealth. A gambler, with no inexpensive tastes, he had been always in need of money. The rights in his patent he had mortgaged long ago. He was not an idler; he was no sham foisted as a great man on an ignorant public. He had really some touch of genius, and he cultivated it assiduously. But the harder he worked, the greater was his need of gaiety and extravagance. Gifted with good looks and a charm of manner, he was popular alike in the great world and the world of Bohemia. He kept and wanted to keep a foot in each. That he was in desperate straits now, probably Helene Vauquier alone in Aix had recognised. She had drawn her inference from one simple fact. Wethermill asked her at a later time when they were better acquainted how she had guessed his need.
"Monsieur," she replied, "you were in Aix without a valet, and it seemed to me that you were of that class of men who would never move without a valet so long as there was money to pay his wages. That was my first thought. Then when I saw you pursue your friendship with Mlle. Celie-you, who so clearly to my eyes did not love her-I felt sure."
On the next occasion that the two met, it was again Harry Wethermill who sought Helene Vauquier. He talked for a minute or two upon indifferent subjects, and then he said quickly:
"I suppose Mme. Dauvray is very rich?"
"She has a great fortune in jewels," said Helene Vauquier.
Wethermill started. He was agitated that evening, the woman saw. His hands shook, his face twitched. Clearly he was hard put to it. For he seldom betrayed himself. She thought it time to strike.
"Jewels which she keeps in the safe in her bedroom," she added.
"Then why don’t you-?" he began, and stopped.
"I said that I too needed help," replied Helene, without a ruffle of her composure.
It was nine o’clock at night. Helene Vauquier had come down to the Casino with a wrap for Mme. Dauvray. The two people were walking down the little street of which the Casino blocks the end. And it happened that an attendant at the Casino, named Alphonse Ruel, passed them, recognised them both, and-smiled to himself with some amusement. What was Wethermill doing in company with Mme. Dauvray’s maid? Ruel had no doubt. Ruel had seen Wethermill often enough these recent days with Mme. Dauvray’s pretty companion. Ruel had all a Frenchman’s sympathy with lovers. He wished them well, those two young and attractive people, and hoped that the maid would help their plans.