But
I was sent off on the wrong scent, and wasted a lot of time, worse
luck--I'll tell you about it later, if you care to hear details. Then,
when that game was up, I did what I wish I'd done at first, found out
and consulted a private detective, said to be one of the best in
Paris--"
"You told your story--_my_ story--to a detective?" I gasped.
"No. Certainly not. I said I'd lost something of value, given me by a
lady whose name I couldn't bring into the affair. I was George Sandford,
too, not Mr. Dundas. I described my travelling companions, telling all
that happened on the way, and offered big pay if he could find them
quickly--especially the little fellow. He held out hopes of spotting
them to-night, so don't be desperate, my poor girl. The detective chap
seemed really to think he'd not have much difficulty in tracking down
our man; and even if he's parted with the treaty, we can find out what
he's done with it, no doubt. Girard says--"
"Girard!" I caught Ivor up. "Is your detective's name Anatole Girard,
and does he live in Rue du Capucin Blanc?"
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"I know too much of him," I answered bitterly.
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