"Have you seen the Sky Pilot?" inquired Victor, with a thoughtful frown.
"Yes, I met Hubert Holt a few days ago at Eastbourne. He asked after you."
"Shall I find him at the usual place?"
"Yes; but it would not be safe to go there."
"Then I'll write. I must see him to-morrow."
"Why?"
"You want le pognon?" he asked snappishly.
"I do."
"Then, if we are to get it, he must give us his aid," he said ominously.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, evidently comprehending his meaning. "But you are not very hospitable," she added. "Have you got anything to drink?"
"Not a drop."
"Malheureux! you've fallen on evil times, my dears," she said, laughing uneasily.
Taking out her small, silver-mounted purse, she emptied its contents upon the table. This consisted of two sovereigns and some silver. The former she handed to Victor, saying,——
"That's all I can give you just now."
He put them into his pocket without a word of thanks, while she sat back in her chair whistling a few bars of a popular chansonette eccentrique.
"Pierre," Bérard said sullenly, at the same time vigorously apostrophizing the "diable," "we're in a difficulty, and the only way we can obtain the money is by another—er—disappearance."
"What, again?" cried Valérie. " Why, poor Pierre is vanishing fast enough already. He's almost a skeleton now," and she pointed at his lean figure derisively.
"I don't get enough to eat nowadays," declared he, pulling a wry face.
