en us a
most hopeful report."

"Has he caught the thief?"

"No; but his agent, a Mr. Sander, writes from Brussels that he has
traced the thief to the Netherlands, and there seems to be some
probability that he will be taken."

"My experience of thieves," said Mr. Devar airily, "has been small.
But I imagine they are hard to take when they once get away. Mr.
Howard is, I fear, wasting his time."

Isabella answered nothing to this, though her pinched lips seemed to
indicate a doubt whether such a waste was in reality going forward.

"Our neighbour's enterprise usually appears to be a waste of time,
does it not?" he said, with the large tolerance of a man owning to
many failings.

Alphonse shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands with a
gesture of helplessness, further accentuated by the bandage on his
wrist.

"I do not so much want to catch the thief as to possess myself of the
money," he said.

"You are charitable, Monsieur Giraud."

"No--I am poor."

Devar laughed in the pleasantest manner imaginable.

"And of course," he said, indicating the Frenchman's maimed hand,
which was usually in evidence, "you are unable to undertake the search
yourself?"

"As yet."

"Then you intend ultimately to join in the chase--you are a great
sportsman, I hear?"

The graceful compliment was not lost upon Alphonse, who beamed upon
his interlocutor.

"In a small way--in a small way," he answered. "Yes, when they strike
a really good scent I shall follow, wounds or no wounds."

At this Mr. Devar expressed some concern, and made himself
additionally agreeable. He refused still to be seated, saying that he
had but come to ascertain the dinner hour on the following Thursday.
Nevertheless, he prolonged his stay and made himself vastly
fascinating.

Chapter XX

Underhand

"Le doute empoisonne tout et ne tue rien."

As I walked through the park towards Isabella's house on the evening
of the dinner-party, Devar's hansom cab dashed past me and stopped a
few yards farther on. The man must have had sharp eyes to recognise me
in a London haze on a November evening. Devar leapt from his cab and
came towards me.

"Shall I walk with you or will you drive with me?" he said.

Placed between two evil alternatives, I suggested that it would be
better for his health to walk with me--hoping, although it was a dry
night, that his shiny boots were too precious or tight for such
exercise. Mr. Devar, however, ma