"Well," exclaimed Flockart, after a long silence, "those Whispers are certainly a mystery, more especially if you've actually heard them. On two or three occasions I've spoken to Sir Henry about them. He ridicules the idea, yet he admitted to me one evening that the voices had really been heard. I declared that the most remarkable fact was the sudden death of each person who had listened and heard them. It is a curious phenomenon, which certainly should be investigated."
"The inference is that I, having listened to the ghostly voices, am doomed to a sudden and violent end," remarked the shabby stranger quite gloomily.
Flockart laughed. "Really, Felix, this is too funny!" he said. "Fancy your taking notice of such old wives' fables! Why, my dear fellow, you've got many years of constant activity before you yet. You must return to Paris in the morning, and watch in patience."
"I have watched, but discovered nothing."
"Perhaps I'll come and assist you; most probably I shall."
"No, don't! As soon as you leave San Remo Sir Henry will know, and he might suspect."
"Suspect what?"
"That you are in search of the truth, and of fortune in consequence."
"He believes in me. Only the other day I had a letter from him written in Goslin's hand, repeating the confidence he reposes in me."
"Exactly. You must remain down here for the present."