“Then you’d better begin now,” his mentor suggested, “and have for once a voyage where you won’t be bored.”
He glanced at the clock. “It’s later than I thought and I have to be up early. I’ll walk to your hotel.”
During the short walk Monty glanced apprehensively over his shoulder a score of times. Out of the shadows it seemed to him that mysterious men stared evilly and banded themselves together until a procession followed the two Americans. But Denby paid no sort of attention to these problematic followers.
“Wait till I’ve got the pearls on me,” he whispered mischievously. “Then you’ll see some fun.”
CHAPTER TWO
ALTHOUGH the carriages and automobiles of the wealthy were no longer three deep in the Rue de la Paix, as they had been earlier in the season, this ravishing thoroughfare was crowded with foot-passengers as Monty and his friend made their way under the red and white awnings of the shops into Cartier’s.
The transaction took very little time. The manager of the place seemed to be expecting his client, to whom he accorded the respect that even a Rue de la Paix jeweler may pay to a million-franc customer. Bank of France notes of high denominations were passed to him and Steven Denby received a small, flat package and walked out into the sunshine with it.
“Now,” said the owner of the pearls, “guard me as you would your honor, Monty; the sport begins, and I am now probably pursued by a half dozen of the super-crooks of high class fiction.”
“I wish you’d be serious,” Monty said plaintively.
“I am,” Denby assured him. “But I rely on your protection, so feel more light-hearted than I should otherwise.”