George Craik looked at her for a long time with a baleful expression, but he scarcely saw her, being lost in thought. He knew as well as she did that she was ten or fifteen years older than she gave herself out to be, but he was not thinking of that. He was wondering if he had, by the merest accident, discovered a means of turning the tables on the man he hated. At last he spoke.
‘Tell me all you know. Let us have no humbug, but tell me everything. Did you ever see Bradley before you saw him yesterday?’
‘Never, Georgie.’
‘But Kitty Montmorency was once married to, or living with, a man of that name? You are quite sure?’
‘Yes. But after all, what does it signify, unless——’
She paused suddenly, for all at once the full significance of the situation flashed upon her.
‘You see how it stands,’ cried her companion. ‘If this is the same man, and it is quite possible, it will be worth a thousand pounds to me—ah, ten thousand! What is Kitty’s address?’
‘Hôtel de la Grande Bretagne, Rue Caumartin, Paris.’
All right, Hottie. I shall go over to-night by the mail.’
The next morning George Craik arrived in Paris, and drove straight to the hotel in the Rue Caumartin—an old-fashioned building, with a great courtyard, round which ran open-air galleries communicating with the various suites of rooms. On inquiring for Mrs. Montmorency he ascertained that she had gone out very early, and was not expected home till midday. He left his card and drove on to the Grand Hotel.