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Her companion did not answer for a few moments. How could he tell her all that he had heard? His desire was to warn her, yet he could not relate to her the allegations made by certain persons against Flockart. "Gabrielle," he said, "all that I have heard tends to show that his friendship for you and for your father is false; therefore avoid him beware of him."
In the air was a delightful perfume, the freshness of the sea in combination with the sweetness of the flowers. A big red motor-car dashed suddenly round a corner, raising a cloud of dust. An American party were on their way from Genoa to the frontier along the Corniche, one of the most picturesque routes in all the world. James Flockart had no eyes for beauty.
Lady Heyburn doesn't give her pearls to be pawned, out of mere friendship, you know." Flockart was silent. He knew too well that the man walking at his side was as clever an intriguer and as bold an adventurer as had ever moved up and down Europe "working the game" in search of pigeons to pluck. His shabbiness was assumed.
"She'll stand between us and a court of assize if that woman acts the fool!" declared the shabby stranger, who moved so rapidly and whose vigilance seemed unequalled. "If we go, she shall go also," Flockart declared in a threatening voice. "But you must prevent such a contretemps," Krail urged. "Ah, it's all very well to talk like that!
He urged forgiveness, but Sir Henry disregarded all his appeals. "No," he declared. "It is fortunate indeed, Flockart, that you made this discovery, and thus placed me upon my guard."
It may have done so. If it has, then our peril has very considerably increased. That's just my argument." "But we'll have Walter to reckon with in any case. He loves her." "Bah! Leave the boy to me. I'll soon show him that the girl's not worth a second thought," replied Flockart with nonchalant air. "All you have to do is to act as I suggested the other night. Then leave the rest to me."
Gabrielle was chatting gaily with her father in an endeavour to cheer him up, when suddenly the door opened, and Flockart, still in his travelling ulster, entered, exclaiming, "Good-morning, Sir Henry." "Why, my dear Flockart, this is really quite unexpected. I I thought you were abroad," cried the Baronet, his face brightening as he stretched out his hand for his visitor to grasp.
Walter Murie is in Paris at this moment in order to make money out of the secret knowledge which Gabrielle obtains for him. My own daughter is responsible for my betrayal!" he added, in a voice broken by emotion. "No, no, Sir Henry!" urged Flockart. "Surely the outlook is not so black as you foresee. Gabrielle has acted injudiciously; but surely she is still devoted to you and your interests."
But Jimmy Flockart, the good-looking, amusing, well-dressed idler, was living down at the "Savoy," and was daily in her company, driving, motoring, picnicking, making excursions in the mountains, or taking trips over to "Monte" by the train-de-luxe.
"The truth!" she said, in a strange voice as though speaking to herself. "Yes, let me tell you! I know that it will sound extraordinary, yet I swear to you, by the love you bear for me, Walter, that the words I am about to utter are the actual truth." "I believe you," declared her lover reassuringly. "Which is more than anyone else will," interposed Flockart with a sneer, but perfectly confident.
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