She laughed, and took my arm confidingly.
“I have always liked you, I have really,” she said in a coaxing undertone. “You are not like other men. You are not always trying to make love to everybody. Ma foi! How I detest some of your countrymen, they make themselves too ridiculous when they come to France.”
“You seem to know a lot about them,” I answered, for want of something better to say.
“Bien! I can assure you!” she replied, to my surprise, quite bitterly. Then she said quickly, in her broken English as though anxious to change the subject—
“You want Mademoiselle Vera—eh?”
“What do you mean?” I gasped, amazed.
“What I say. You want her. Well, she is quite near here.”
“Near here!”
“Mais oui. Pay me enough, and I will take you to her—now.”
I was panting with excitement. With an effort I controlled myself. It was clear to me that this woman knew a great deal. She might indeed be able to clear up the whole mystery of Houghton Park if she were paid enough, perhaps also the mystery connected with Château d’Uzerche.