“A visitor to Boulogne?” I inquired.

“Not exactly.”

“A resident?”

“Yes.  The fact is, I lost sight of Peterkin when I left Oxford—­and since that time he seems to have drifted into difficulties.  We had a long talk.  He is living here, he tells me, until his affairs are settled.”

I needed no further enlightenment—­Captain Peterkin stood as plainly revealed to me as if I had known him for years.  “Isn’t it a little imprudent,” I said, “to renew your acquaintance with a man of that sort?  Couldn’t you have passed him, with a bow?”

Bolnayne smiled uneasily.  “I daresay you’re right,” he answered.  “But, remember, I had left my aunt, feeling ashamed of the unjust way in which I had thought and spoken of her.  How did I know that I mightn’t be wronging an old friend next, if I kept Peterkin at a distance?  His present position may be as much his misfortune, poor fellow, as his fault.  I was half inclined to pass him, as you say—­but I distrusted my own judgment.  He held out his hand, and he was so glad to see me.  It can’t be helped now.  I shall be anxious to hear your opinion of him.”

“Are we going to dine with Captain Peterkin?”

“Yes.  I happened to mention that wretched dinner yesterday at our hotel.  He said, ’Come to my boarding-house.  Out of Paris, there isn’t such a table d’hote in France.’  I tried to get off it—­not caring, as you know, to go among strangers—­I said I had a friend with me.  He invited you most cordially to accompany me.  More excuses on my part only led to a painful result.  I hurt Peterkin’s feelings.  ‘I’m down in the world,’ he said, ’and I’m not fit company for you and your friends.  I beg your pardon for taking the liberty of inviting you!’ He turned away with the tears in his eyes.  What could I do?”

I thought to myself, “You could have lent him five pounds, and got rid of his invitation without the slightest difficulty.”  If I had returned in reasonable time to go out with Romayne, we might not have met the captain—­or, if we had met him, my presence would have prevented the confidential talk and the invitation that followed.  I felt I was to blame—­and yet, how could I help it?  It was useless to remonstrate:  the mischief was done.

We left the Old Town on our right hand, and drove on, past a little colony of suburban villas, to a house standing by itself, surrounded by a stone wall.  As we crossed the front garden on our way to the door, I noticed against the side of the house two kennels, inhabited by two large watch-dogs.  Was the proprietor afraid of thieves?

III.

The moment we were introduced to the drawing-room, my suspicions of the company we were likely to meet with were fully confirmed.