Mary, with a strained look in her eyes, was drumming gloved fingers on the table.
"I detest Julius Rohscheimer!" she flashed. "He is a perfect octopus. Even father fears him—I don't know why."
Haredale smiled grimly.
"But there is someone who could prevent him from ruining your life, Dick," she continued, glancing down at the table.
She did not look up for a few moments. Then, as Haredale kept silent, she was forced to do so. His grey eyes were fixed upon her face.
"Séverac Bablon? What do you know of him, Mary?"
She grew suddenly pale.
"I only know"—hesitating—"that is, I think, he is a man who, however misguided, has a love of justice."
Haredale watched her.
"He is an up-to-date Claude Duval," he said harshly. "It hurts me, rather, Mary, to hear you approve of him. Why do you do so? I have noticed something of this before. Do you forget that this man, for all the romance and mystery that surround him, still is no more than a common thief—a criminal?"