And unless they returned to the Rue de la Cordonnerie to-night (which I now entirely doubted), what was the good of telegraphing to Alec?
"You say he is painting, as every day," I said. "Has he any pictures in the house at this moment?"
"Twenty or more, M'sieu'."
"They are in his room without doubt?"
"Oui, M'sieu'. At this moment even. After his departure this morning I did his room with my own hands."
"He sells his pictures?"
She gave a shrug. "That I cannot say. He sketches the clients, but those he gives away. Caporal Robert he drew as one should say himself, le Caporal, breathing upon the paper. Evidemment he has exposed at the Galleries. Are his pictures of great value, M'sieu'?"
"I am unable to say, Madame."
("But," I thought, "as it is a wager that those pictures upstairs and that bicycle-pump behind the door will be his payment for his lodging, it is to be hoped they are.")
I rose.