"All I fear is they will get frightened and take her off. You people have got to watch her. They'll run her off, if they suspect. Poor little kid.
"It's strange," says the miner; "they could have put this poor little one out of the way easy. But they don't want that. Want her alive, but kept on the quiet. I suppose there's somebody else," he mutters.
"By Jove! that's it. There's property or money hanging on her existence. Now, padre, I'll talk plain. You priests are pretty sly. You write your people about this child. I'll see you have money. My banker will work the whole municipality of Paris for you.
"That's it; we've got it." The miner's fist makes the glasses rattle, as he quaffs his wine.
"Don't lose sight of her a minute. Don't show your hand."
The priest rolls home in Joe's carriage. He busies himself the next days with going to the bank, conferring with his fellows, and awaking the vigilance of Josephine.
It is left to the priest and his ally from the ranks of "Mammon" to follow these tangled threads. The younger men know nothing, save the injunctions to Josephine.
Ten days after this visit, Colonel Joe, who has run over to London, where he closed some financial matters of note, sends post-haste to PŠre Fran‡ois this note:
"Come up, padre. I've got a whole history for you. It will make your eyes open. I want you to talk to the detective."
Even the Californian's horses are not quick enough to-day for the priest.