Throwing off his indifference more and more, Ascott, glad of the opportunity
to tell his troubles to another, confided to the detective his extraordinary adventure with Nini Guinon and the threats addressed to him; the consequences of a passing caprice had come to a head.
Tom Bob preserved his calm as he listened to the story.
“And then?” he asked, when Ascott stopped to take breath.
“Then,” declared the latter, “it is my duty to give you a piece of news, a great piece of news—I am getting married, I am marrying Nini Guinon!”
“Good luck!” cried the detective, “and when is it to be?”
“This morning, almost directly.”
“Bad luck!” ejaculated Tom Bob—“and I was just wanting to ask you to breakfast!”
“Yes,” went on Ascott, with an air of dejection, “in two hours’ time I shall be the lawful husband of an old usurer’s niece, Père Moche’s niece; oh! it is a fine kettle of fish!”
“Ascott,” put in Tom Bob, trying to console him, “you are marrying under French law; you know, don’t you? that divorce is allowed.”