I registered at the Hôtel International as Monsieur Boileau, representing myself to be a French tourist, and here my knowledge of the language stood me in good stead.
This was the initial move in a new plot of Featherson's to make further money; and when, in due course, Count Binetti and his daughter arrived, I was passed by with a haughty stare from that tall, supercilious-looking aristocrat. Counts, of course, are numerous in Continental hotels, but few of them have the superb manner and presence of that able swindler with whom I was now in partnership.
By careful arrangement, the Count's table was next to mine in the dining-room, and in a day or two he condescended to smoke a cigarette with me, while his daughter—bless her little heart—became quite friendly. Poor girl! She was most unhappy, but could not desert her father, although she knew he was contemplating another risky coup.
The young Prince de Montelupo arrived at the hotel shortly after Featherson, and with him were his mother and two or three other grand ladies and gentlemen with long names and titles—and much jewellery.
Everything was now ready for our adventure, and early one morning, about half-past one,
