Yes, that would be splendid, Roderick," cried Mary, all the girlish
excitement born of Paris strong upon her. "Let's go and buy a hundred
things"--Roderick groaned--"but I wish, Mark, you weren't going to
leave us on our first night here; you know what you said only
yesterday!"

"What did I say yesterday?"

"That there were a lot of bounders in Paris--and I want to see them
bound!"

I consoled her by telling her that bounders never made display after
six o'clock, and assured her that Roderick had long confessed to me his
intention to buy her the best hat in Paris, at which Roderick muttered
exclamations for my ear only. By that time we were at the hotel, and
the Perfect Fool had much to say.

"Could any gentleman oblige me with the time, English or French?" he
asked; "my watch is so moved at the situation in which it finds itself
that it is fourteen hours too slow."

I told him that it was ten minutes to eight, and the information
quickened him.

"Ten minutes to eight, and half-a-dozen Russian princes, to say nothing
of an English knight, to meet; so ho, my toilet must remain! Could
anyone oblige me with a comb, fragmentary or whole?"

He continued his banter as we mounted the stairs of the cozy little
hotel, whose windows overlook the core of the great throbbing heart of
Paris, and so until we were alone in my room, whither he had followed
me.

"Quick's the word," he said, as he shut the door, and took several
articles from his hat-box, "and no more palaver. One pair of
spectacles, one wig, one set of curiosities to sell--do I look like a
second-hand dealer in odd lots, or do I not, Mr. Mark Strong?"

I had never seen such an utter change in any man made with such little
show. The Perfect Fool was no longer before me; there was in his place
a lounging, shady-looking, greed-haunted Hebrew. The haunching of the
shoulders was perfect; the stoop, the walk, were triumphs. But he gave
me little opportunity to inspect him or to ask for what reason he had
thus disguised himself.

"It's five minutes from here," he said, "and the clocks are going
eight--you are right as you are, for you are a cipher in the affair
yet, and don't run the danger I run--now come!"

He passed down the stairs with this blunt invitation, and I followed
him. So good was his disguise and make-pretence that the others, who
were in the narrow hall, drew back, to let him go, not recognising him,
and spoke to me, asking what I had done with hi