Page:The little blue devil (IA littlebluedevil00mackiala).pdf/175

an acquaintance of his first days in London, who greeted him with something like interest.

“Hullo, St. Croix! I met someone of your ur name in Monte Carlo the other day—at least, he wouldn’t be anything to do with you, I suppose, because he was a Frenchman, and pronounced his name differently. So it’s no relation. You wouldn’t want to claim him if you saw him! Come to think of it, he didn’t look unlike you, though—like you gone bad.”

Tony pricked up his ears.

“What had he to say for himself?” he said idly.

“Plenty! The day before I left (I’ve only just come back) he pitched me a long yarn and made it rather entertaining, but it would not translate well. If half he says is true, he is an awful blackguard, but that seems to amuse him so much that I’m inclined to think he isn’t half as black as he paints himself. What do you say?”

Tony reserved his judgment. If the man in question was Gaston Ste. Croix he was pretty certain that the paint was not laid on too thickly.

“I don’t know yet what he told you,” he said.

“That’s true! Well, here’s one thing. He boasted of having impersonated a comparatively respectable brother of his, and collected money from some of the latter’s tenants. They were simple people, he said, and didn’t think it so very strange that the seigneur should come himself—it was an honour!—and he needed the money greatly just then. He left the mess to be fixed up by the real owner. Some years later he tried the same game again—a mistake, as he freely admitted. He and the peasants had both changed too much, though it was such an out-of-the-way place.”

Tony nodded without speaking. He remembered the first incident quite well. The other attempt must have been since the parting.