“I think not.”

“Think!  Why, my dear Felix, this isn’t like you only to think; you always know.  You’re so certain of your facts that I’ve always banked upon them.”

The other gave his shoulders a shrug of indecision.  “It was not a judicious move on your part to get rid of the girl from Glencardine,” he said slowly.  “While she was there we had a chance of getting at some clue.  But now old Goslin has taken her place we may just as well abandon investigation at that end.”

“You’ve failed, Krail, and attribute your failure to me,” protested his companion.  “How could I risk being ignominiously kicked out of Glencardine as a spy?”

“Whatever attitude you might have taken would have had the same result.  We used the information, and found ourselves fooled—­tricked by a very crafty old man, who actually prepared those documents in case he was betrayed.”

“Admitted,” said Flockart.  “But even though we made fools of ourselves in Athens, and caused the Greek Government to look upon us as rogues and liars, the girl is suspected; and I for one don’t mean to give in before we’ve secured a nice, snug little sum.”

“How are we to do it?”

“By obtaining knowledge of the game being played in Paris, and working in an opposite direction,” Flockart replied.  “We are agreed upon one point:  that for the past few years, ever since Goslin came on the scene, Sir Henry’s business—­a big one, there is no doubt—­has been of a mysterious and therefore shady character.  By his confidence in Gabrielle, his care that nobody ever got a chance inside that safe, his regular consultations with Goslin (who travelled from Paris specially to see him), his constant telegrams in cipher, and his refusal to allow even his wife to obtain the slightest inkling into his private affairs, it is shown that he fears exposure.  Do you agree?”

“Most certainly I do.”

“Well, any man who is in dread of the truth becoming known must be carrying on some negotiations the reverse of creditable.  He is the moving spirit of that shady house, without a doubt,” declared Flockart, who had so often grasped the blind man’s hand in friendship.  “In such fear that his transactions should become known, and that exposure might result, he actually had prepared documents on purpose to mislead those who pried into his affairs.  Therefore, the instant we discover the truth, fortune will be at our hand.  We all want money, you, I, and Lady Heyburn—­and money we’ll have.”

“With these sentiments, my dear friend, I entirely and absolutely agree,” remarked the shabby man, lighting a fresh cigarette.  “But one fact you seem to have entirely overlooked.”

“What?”

“The girl.  She stands between you, and she might come back into the old man’s favour, you know.”

“And even though she did, that makes no difference,” Flockart answered defiantly.

“Why?”