with Pierrette? I
wondered. At any rate, I felt that I must contrive to see him in secret
and ascertain what really was in progress.

"Sir Charles has, I believe, great influence with the police," I
remarked, with the idea of furthering my friend's interests, whatever
they were. "No doubt he will write home, and whatever can be done to
trace Monsieur Dumont will be done."

"He is extremely courteous to us," Madame said. "A lady in the hotel
tells me that he is very well known on the Riviera."

"I believe he is. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, he is one of the English
members of the Fetes Committee at Nice."

"Well, I only hope that he will carry out his kind promise," declared
Pierrette. "He seems to know everybody. Last night he was taking coffee
with the Duchess of Gozzano and her friends, who seem a most exclusive
set."

She was not mistaken. Blythe certainly had a very wide circle of
friends. It was he who idled about the most expensive hotels at Aix,
Biarritz, Pau, Rome, or Cairo, and after fixing upon likely jewels
displayed by their proud feminine possessors, mostly wives of
aristocrats or vulgar financiers, would duly report to Bindo and his
friends, and make certain suggestions for obtaining possession of them.

To the keen observation of the baronet, who moved always in the smartest
of cosmopolitan society, were due those robberies of jewels, reports of
which one read so constantly in the papers. He was the eye of the little
ring of clever adventurers who, with capital at their command, were able
to effect _coups_ so daring, so ingenious, and so cleverly devised that
even Monsieur Lepine and his department in Paris were from time to time
utterly aghast and dumbfounded.

That night I wrote a note to him, and at eleven o'clock next morning we
met in a small cafe down in La Condamine. It was never judicious for any
of our quartette to meet openly, and when on the Riviera we usually used
the quiet little place if we wished to consult.

When the pseudo-baronet lounged in and seated himself at my table, he
certainly did not present the appearance of a "crook." Tall, erect, of
peculiarly aristocratic bearing, and dressed in a suit of light flannels
and a soft brown felt hat set jauntily on his head, he was the picture
of easy affluence. His face was narrow, his eyes sparkling with good
humour, and his well-trimmed beard dark, with a few streaks of grey.

He ordered a "Dubonnet," and then, finding that we wer