and it
seemed to me that you were of that class of men who would never move
without a valet so long as there was money to pay his wages. That was
my first thought. Then when I saw you pursue your friendship with Mlle.
Celie--you, who so clearly to my eyes did not love her--I felt sure."

On the next occasion that the two met, it was again Harry Wethermill
who sought Helene Vauquier. He talked for a minute or two upon
indifferent subjects, and then he said quickly:

"I suppose Mme. Dauvray is very rich?"

"She has a great fortune in jewels," said Helene Vauquier.

Wethermill started. He was agitated that evening, the woman saw. His
hands shook, his face twitched. Clearly he was hard put to it. For he
seldom betrayed himself. She thought it time to strike.

"Jewels which she keeps in the safe in her bedroom," she added.

"Then why don't you---?" he began, and stopped.

"I said that I too needed help," replied Helene, without a ruffle of
her composure.

It was nine o'clock at night. Helene Vauquier had come down to the
Casino with a wrap for Mme. Dauvray. The two people were walking down
the little street of which the Casino blocks the end. And it happened
that an attendant at the Casino, named Alphonse Ruel, passed them,
recognised them both, and--smiled to himself with some amusement. What
was Wethermill doing in company with Mme. Dauvray's maid? Ruel had no
doubt. Ruel had seen Wethermill often enough these recent days with
Mme. Dauvray's pretty companion. Ruel had all a Frenchman's sympathy
with lovers. He wished them well, those two young and attractive
people, and hoped that the maid would help their plans.

But as he passed he caught a sentence spoken suddenly by Wethermill.

"Well, it is true; I must have money." And the agitated voice and words
remained fixed in his memory. He heard, too, a warning "Hush!" from the
maid. Then they passed out of his hearing. But he turned and saw that
Wethermill was talking volubly. What Harry Wethermill was saying he was
saying in a foolish burst of confidence.

"You have guessed it, Helene--you alone." He had mortgaged his patent
twice over--once in France, once in England--and the second time had
been a month ago. He had received a large sum down, which went to pay
his pressing creditors. He had hoped to pay the sum back from a new
invention.

"But Helene, I tell you," he said, "I have a conscience." And when she
smiled he explained. "Oh, not what the priests would