“I can’t tell. He never gives reasons. His only instructions were to go to the Bristol, make the acquaintance of Mademoiselle and her chaperon, and create an impression on them.”
“Well, you’ve done that, if nothing else,” I assured him, laughing. “But the whole affair is such a complete mystery that it certainly is to the interests of all of us if I’m let into the secret. At present I’m working in the dark.”
“And so am I, my dear fellow,” was Sir Charles’s response. “Bindo met me in the Constitutional, gave me a hundred pounds, and told me to go out at once. So I came.”
“And when is he returning?”
“Only he himself knows that. He seems tremendously busy. Henderson is with him. When I left he was just going to Birmingham.”
“You know who Pierrette is?”
“Yes. Daughter of old Dumont, the jeweller in the Rue de la Paix. Bindo told me that much. Her father disappeared from the Charing Cross Hotel, as well as his clerk and a bagful of jewellery.”
“Exactly. I suspect Martin, the clerk, don’t you?”
He smiled, his eyes fixed upon me.
“Perhaps,” he remarked vaguely.