seriously enough for that. But I should take a good deal of pleasure in kicking you down the Promenade des Anglais."
The Comte was not at all anxious to take offence. He merely raised his eyebrows and murmured:
"The English are barbarians."
"Well," said Derek, "what is it you have to say to me?"
"I will be frank," said the Comte, "I will come immediately to the point. That will suit us both, will it not?"
Again he smiled in his agreeable fashion.
"Go on," said Derek curtly.
The Comte looked at the ceiling, joined the tips of his fingers together, and murmured softly:
"You have come into a lot of money, Monsieur."
"What the devil has that got to do with you?"
The Comte drew himself up.
"Monsieur, my name is tarnished! I am suspected—accused—of foul crime."
"The accusation does not come from me," said Derek coldly; "as an interested party I have not expressed any opinion."
"I am innocent," said the Comte, "I swear before heaven"—he raised his hand to heaven—"that I am innocent."
"M. Carrège is, I believe, the Juge d'Instruction in charge of the case," hinted Derek politely.
The Comte took no notice.
"Not only am I unjustly suspected of a crime that I did not commit, but I am also in serious need of money."
