The young adventurer threw himself into the arm-chair opposite to where Adolphe Carlier was seated, and in the twilight unfolded his scheme for a coup at a well-known jeweller’s in Bond Street, at which he was already a customer and had thoroughly surveyed the premises.
“I expected that you had some new scheme in hand,” Carlier said at last, in French, after listening attentively to the details of the proposition, every one of which had been most carefully thought out by the pupil of the notorious Bonnemain. “On arrival this afternoon I put up at the Charing Cross Hotel—so as to be handy if we have to get out quickly.”
“Good. Probably we shall be compelled to move pretty slick,” Ansell said, in English. Then, after a few moments’ pause, he added: “Do you know, my dear Adolphe, I have some news for you.”
“News?”
“Yes. I’m going to be married in November.”
“Married!” echoed Carlier, staring at his friend. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
“She’s French; lives here in London; smart, sweet—a perfect peach,” was his answer. “She’ll be a lot of use to us in future.”
Carlier was silent for a few moments.
“Does she know anything?” he asked in a low, serious voice.
“Nothing.”