companion was a witty little man with half the languages of Europe on his tongue, and a knowledge of all the tricks and dodges of all the criminal fraternity at his finger-ends.  He has since written a book on his experiences, and a stranger volume, or one more replete with a knowledge of the darker side of human nature it would be difficult to find.  He had commenced his professional career as a doctor, and like myself had gradually drifted into the detective profession.  Among other things he was an inimitable hand at disguising himself, as many a wretched criminal now knows to his cost.  Even I, who know him so well, have been taken in by him.  I have given alms to a blind beggar in the streets, have encountered him as a chiffonier prowling about the gutters, have sat next to him on an omnibus when he has been clothed as an artisan in a blue blouse, and on not one of those occasions have I ever recognized him until he made himself known to me.  Among other things he was a decided epicure, and loved a good dinner as well as any of his compatriots.  Could you but see him with his napkin tucked under his chin, his little twinkling eyes sparkling with mirth, and his face wreathed in smiles, you would declare him to be one of the jolliest-looking individuals you have ever encountered.  See him, however, when he is on business and has a knotty problem to solve, and you will find a different man.  The mouth has become one of iron, the eyes are as fierce as fierce can be.  Some one, I remember, likened him to the great Napoleon, and the description is an exceedingly apt one.

“By the way,” I said, as we took a peep into our second bottle of Perrier-Jouet, “there is a question I want to put to you.  Do you happen to be acquainted with a certain Mademoiselle Beaumarais?”

“I have known her for more years than she or I would care to remember,” he answered.  “For a woman who has led the life she has, she wears uncommonly well.  A beautiful creature!  The very finest shoulders in all Paris, and that is saying something.”

He blew a kiss off the tips of his fingers, and raised his glass in her honour.

“I drink to her in this noble wine, but I do not let her touch my money.  Oh no, la belle Louise is a clever woman, a very clever woman, but money trickles through her fingers like water through a sieve.  Let me think for a moment.  She ruined the Marquis D’Esmai, the Vicomte Cotforet, Monsieur D’Armier, and many others whose names I cannot now recall.  The first is with our noble troops in Cochin China, the second is in Algeria, and the third I know not where, and now I have learnt since my arrival in Paris that she has got hold of a young Englishman, who is vastly wealthy.  She will have all he has got very soon, and then he will begin the world anew.  You are interested in that Englishman, of course?”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you question me about Mademoiselle Beaumarais,” he answered.  “A good many people have asked me about her at different times, but it is always the man they want to get hold of.  You, my astute Fairfax, are interested in the man, not because you want to save him from her, but because he has done a little something which he should not have done elsewhere.  The money he is lavishing on Mademoiselle Louise, whence does it come?  Should I be very wrong if I suggested gems?”