“Where can I leave this money with safety?” Quentin asked himself.
Whomever he trusted would be apt to ask indiscreet questions. His stepfather? Impossible. Palomares, perhaps? But Palomares, in his indignation against the rich, would be likely to keep the money. Señora Patrocinio? She would probably be angry at him. Springer? He was the best.
“I’ll go to his house,” he thought; and he gave the coachman the address of the Swiss watch-maker.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE CITY OF THE DISCREET
SPRINGER was somewhat taken aback when he saw Quentin enter his store, and he rose to his feet and said, turning a trifle pale:
“I can imagine why you have come.”
“You can? It would be rather hard. But first do me the favour of giving me a few pesetas with which to pay the coachman.”
The Swiss opened a drawer and gave him two dollars. Quentin paid the coachman, and returned to the watch store.
“Boy,” he said to his friend, “I came here because you are the only trustworthy person I know.”
“Thanks,” said Springer sourly.