“Emanuel Pick. I wasn’t fond of Emanuel myself,” with a sharp glance at Braith’s eyes, “but I supposed you knew something in his favor, or you would not have left—er—the lady in his charge.”
Braith was silent.
“I understood him to be your agent,” said the little man, cautiously.
“He was not.”
“Oh!”
A long silence followed, during which Mr Bulfinch sought and found an explanation of several things. After a while he said musingly:
“I should like to meet Mr Pick again.”
“Why should you want to meet him?”
“I wish to wring his nose two hundred times, one for each franc I lent him.”
“How was that?” said Braith, absently.