"Oh, sir, on my sacred word of honour—" An order on Mountjoy's bankers in Paris for the necessary amount, with something added for travelling expenses, checked Mr. Vimpany in full career of protestation. He tried to begin again: "My friend! my benefactor—"
He was stopped once more. His friend and benefactor pointed to the clock.
"If you want the money to-day, you have just time to get to Paris before the bank closes."
Mr. Vimpany did want the money—always wanted the money; his gratitude burst out for the third time: "God bless you!"
The object of that highly original form of benediction pointed through the window in the direction of the railway station. Mr. Vimpany struggled no longer to express his feelings—he had made his last sacrifice to appearances—he caught the train.
The door of the room had been left open. A voice outside said: "Has he gone?"
"Come in, Fanny," said Mountjoy. "He will return to London either to-night or to-morrow morning."
The strange maid put her head in at the door. "I'll be at the terminus," she said, "and make sure of him."
Her head suddenly disappeared, before it was possible to speak to her again. "Was there some other person outside? The other person entered the room; it was Lord Harry. He spoke without his customary smile.
"I want a word with you, Mr. Mountjoy."