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Updated: May 20, 2025
It was a bargain she proposed the impertinence of it! It was a bargain she proposed the value of it! In that shape ran Harry Wethermill's thoughts. He was in desperate straits, though to the world's eye he was a man of wealth. A gambler, with no inexpensive tastes, he had been always in need of money. The rights in his patent he had mortgaged long ago.
The three men went straight to Harry Wethermill's apartment, which consisted of a sitting-room and a bedroom on the first floor. A balcony ran along outside. Hanaud stepped out on to it, looked about him, and returned. "It is as well to know that we cannot be overheard," he said. Harry Wethermill meanwhile had thrown himself into a chair.
A glance into his rooms which I had you will remember that when we had discovered the motor-car I suggested that we should go to Harry Wethermill's rooms and talk it over that glance enabled me to see that he could very easily have got out of his room on to the verandah below and escaped from the hotel by the garden quite unseen.
It was she who left her footsteps so plainly visible upon the grass, not the man. However, we will go back to M. Wethermill's room at the Hotel Majestic and talk this matter over. We know something now.
At once he leaned back in his chair. "Il y a une suite," he said quietly. He relinquished the bank rather than play against that five-louis note. The stakes were taken up by their owners. The croupier began to count Wethermill's winnings, and Ricardo, curious to know whose small, delicately gloved hand it was which had brought the game to so abrupt a termination, leaned forward.
Meanwhile, of course, I made my inquiries into Wethermill's circumstances. My good friends in England helped me. They were precarious. He owed money in Aix, money at his hotel. We knew from the motor-car that the man we were searching for had returned to Aix. Things began to look black for Wethermill. Then you gave me a little piece of information." "I!" exclaimed Ricardo, with a start. "Yes.
For the first time that day there had come some colour into his cheeks, a sparkle into his eye. "But that is wonderful!" he cried. "How did you find that out?" Hanaud leaned back in his chair and took a pull at his cigar. He was obviously pleased with Wethermill's admiration. "Yes, how did you find it out?" Ricardo repeated. Hanaud smiled.
But all at once Wethermill's luck deserted him. He renewed his bank three times, and had lost the greater part of his winnings when he had dealt the cards through. He took a fourth bank, and rose from that, too, a loser. "That's enough, Celia," he said. "Let us go out into the garden; it will be cooler there." "I have taken your good luck away," said the girl remorsefully.
Then he roused himself from his reverie with a start. "You look out upon Mont Revard, I see. I think M. Wethermill's view over the garden and the town is the better one," he said, and went out of the room. At three o'clock Ricardo called in his car, which was an open car of high power, at Hanaud's hotel, and the two men went to the station.
Hanaud, for his part, asked for no reply from him. Indeed, he did not look towards Harry Wethermill's face at all. Ricardo understood. Hanaud did not mean to be deterred by the suffering written there. He went down again into the little gay salon lit with flowers and August sunlight, and stood beside the couch gazing at it with troubled eyes. And, as he gazed, he closed his eyes and shivered.
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