No; the bond between the pair was an entirely mysterious one.  He knew that on more than one occasion, when Flockart’s demands for money had been a little too frequent, she had resisted and attempted to withdraw from further association with him.  Yet by a single word, or even a look, he could compel her to disgorge the funds he needed, for she had even handed him some of her trinkets to pawn until she could obtain further funds from Sir Henry to redeem them.

As they walked together along the white Corniche Road, their faces set towards the gorgeous southern afterglow, while the waves lapped lazily on the grey rocks, all these puzzling thoughts recurred to Krail.

“Lady Heyburn seems still to remain your very devoted friend,” he remarked at last with a meaning smile.  “I see from the New York Herald what pleasant parties she gives, and how she is the heart and soul of social merriment in San Remo.  By Jove, James! you’re a lucky man to possess such a popular hostess as friend.”

“Yes,” laughed Flockart, “Winnie is a regular pal.  Without her I should have been broken long ago.  But she’s always ready to help me along.”

“People have already remarked upon your remarkable friendship,” said his friend, “and many ill-natured allegations have been made.”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite well aware of that, my dear fellow.  It has pained me more than enough.  You yourself know that, as far as affection goes, I’ve never in my life entertained a spark of it for Winnie.  We were children together, and have been friends always.”

“Quite so!” exclaimed Krail, smiling.  “That’s a pretty good story to tell the world.  But there’s a point where mere friendship must break, you know.”

“What do you mean?” asked the other, glancing at him in surprise.

“Well, the story you tell other people may be picturesque and romantic, but with me it’s just a trifle weak.  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.  He had alighted at Bordighera station from the rapide from Paris, spent the night at a third-rate hotel in order not to be recognised at the Angst or any of the smarter houses, and had met him by appointment to explain the present situation.  His remarks, however, were the reverse of reassuring.  What did he suspect?

“I don’t quite follow you, Krail,” Flockart said.

“I meant to imply that if friendship only links you with Lady Heyburn, the chain may quite easily snap,” he remarked.

He looked at his friend, much puzzled.  He could see no point in that observation.

Krail read what was passing in the other’s mind, and added, “I know, mon cher ami, that affection from her ladyship is entirely out of the question.  The gossips are liars.  And——­”