The President bowed and said that was well understood, and then he proceeded to put me a few exceedingly polite and fatuous questions about Teddy, who, as a contrite nephew cut to the heart at so unfortunately dragging an old and honored name through the purlieus of the criminal law, was acting his part to perfection.
Yes, monsieur was my nephew, of a character gentle and affectionate; of retiring habits and delicate health, a little poitrinaire, in fact (at which Teddy, comprehending, coughed with unnecessary violence), but all that was of obedient, tractable, and good. He had gone down to the Casino, while we, my wife and I—Madame Ving-ham still weeping—had gone to bed, believing he was in his room; and the next we had heard was early that morning, when we received a note from him announcing the unfortunate capture and mistake. Monsieur le Président would readily understand what of grief and desolation?—my affectionate uncle’s voice, with a touch of an only nephew in it, trembled, and madame shook convulsively as, still grasping my arm tight, she moaned and sobbed.
That was more than enough. In a very few minutes, after a brief consultation among the judges, Teddy was released and dramatically embracing us in the body of the court—thereby nearly bringing off my left whisker—and I was paying our eloquent counsel. Before I left the yacht I had providentially provided myself with a bundle of notes from the heap of spoil on the table, and one of them—for a thousand francs—I presented to the astonished and gratified barrister. I trembled to think how much more than ever for the next few days he would reek of his favorite ail.
Out went Mrs. Wingham, arm in arm with Teddy, and I followed, after declining the President’s kind invitation to breakfast with him, on the score of my overwrought feelings.
Just as I was going down the steps a man I recognized as a croupier touched me respectfully on the arm, with a crafty, meridional smile. I stopped in some alarm, thinking it possible I was discovered. What did he want? Why, Milor no doubt remembered that lady whom Milor had commissioned the croupier to find out all about and let him know? Perfectly, I replied, with stiff and aristocratic upper lip. What had he discovered?
She was an Italian, one Madame Vagliano, and she lived at the Villa des Genets, above the Condamine. He was proceeding with more information, when I haughtily cut him short with “C’est bien! assez! voici madame qui nous observe,” and handing him a note, which I afterwards discovered was unfortunately one of a thousand francs instead of, as I meant, a hundred, I hurried to the foot of the steps, where madame and Teddy were awaiting me. Ce scélèrat de Lord B.! I have really a good mind to give his illustrious name, after all.
We walked on a little way in silence, and then Mrs. Wingham said, with traces of tearfulness:
“What are you two villains going to do now?”
“Bolt!” I replied, laconically.
“And where’s my poor brother James all this time?”