"I have not spoken of money to her," replied Wethermill; and then
he burst out laughing. "But why should you think that I--I, of all
men--want money?" he asked.
And Helene answered him again enigmatically.
"If I am wrong, monsieur, I am sorry, but you can help me too,"
she said, in her submissive voice. And she passed on, leaving
Wethermill rooted to the ground.
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. He was not an idler; he was no
sham foisted as a great man on an ignorant public. He had really
some touch of genius, and he cultivated it assiduously. But the
harder he worked, the greater was his need of gaiety and
extravagance. Gifted with good looks and a charm of manner, he was
popular alike in the great world and the world of Bohemia. He kept
and wanted to keep a foot in each. That he was in desperate
straits now, probably Helene Vauquier alone in Aix had recognised.
She had drawn her inference from one simple fact. Wethermill asked
her at a later time when they were better acquainted how she had
guessed his need.
"Monsieur," she replied, "you were in Aix without a valet, and it
seemed to me that you were of that class of men who would never
move without a valet so long as there was money to pay his wages.
That was my first thought. Then when I saw you pursue your
friendship with Mlle. Celie--you, who so clearly to my eyes did
not love her--I felt sure."
On the next occasion that the two met, it was again Harry
Wethermill who sought Helene Vauquier. He talked for a minute or
two upon indifferent subjects, and then he said quickly: "I suppose Mme. Dauvray is very rich?"
"She has a great fortune in jewels," said Helene Vauquier.
Wethermill started. He was agitated that evening, the woman saw.
His hands shook, his face twitched. Clearly he was hard put to it.
For he seldom betrayed himself. She thought it time to strike.
"Jewels which she keeps in the safe in her bedroom," she added.
"Then why don't you---?" he began, and stopped.
"I said that I too needed help," replied Helene, without a ruffle
of her composure.
It was nine o'clock at night. Helene Vauquier had come down to the
Casino with a wrap for Mme. Dauvray. The two people were walking
down the little street of which the Casino blocks the end. And it
happened that an attendant at the Casino, named Alphonse Ruel,
passed them, recognised them both, and--smiled to himself with
some amusement. What was Wethermill doing in company with Mme.
Dauvray's maid? Ruel had no doubt. Ruel had seen Wethermill often
enough these recent days with Mme. Dauvray's pretty companion.
Ruel had all a Frenchman's sympathy with lovers. He wished them
well, those two young and attractive people, and hoped that the
maid would help their plans.