“I don’t see why we need discuss it further,” said Brooker quietly. “Liane will never become Princess d’Auzac.”
“Will you allow me to pay my attentions to her?”
“If you are together I cannot prevent it, Zertho. But, candidly speaking, you are not the man I would choose as husband for my daughter.”
“I know I’m not, old fellow,” the other said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “And you’re not exactly the man that, in ordinary circumstances, I’d choose as my father-in-law. But I have money, and if the man’s a bit decent-looking, and sound of wind and limb, it’s about all a woman wants nowadays.”
“Ah! I don’t think you yet understand Liane. She’s not eager for money and position, like most girls.”
“Well, let me have a fair innings, Brooker, and she’ll consent to become Princess d’Auzac, I feel convinced. You fancy I only admire her; but I swear it’s a bit more than mere admiration. For Heaven’s sake take her out of that dismal hole where you are living, and make her break it all off with Stratfield’s son. She must do that at once. Take her to the seaside—to Paris—anywhere, for a month or two until we can all meet in the South.”
Brooker, leaning against the mantelshelf, slowly flicked the ash from his cigar, meditated deeply for a few moments, then asked—
“Why do you wish to take me back to the old spot?”
“Because only there can you pick up a living. The police have nothing against either of us, so what have we to fear?”
“Recognition by one or other of our dupes. Play wasn’t all straight, you’ll remember.”