viser. I ask
Pierre Manciot at the French Hotel, and he tells me to see his
partner, John Sere; and Mr. Sere tells me to go to the editor of the
_Colonist_. I come here. The editor is ill. I go back to Mr.
Sere and he says, see D. W. H.; he will set you all right. So I come
to you to tell you what I want."

She paused for a moment to take a newspaper from her reticule and
then continued:

"After my husband died and left the debts and this precious child
(the "child" gazed abstractedly at the ceiling while he blew rings of
smoke from his mouth) we made a grand discovery. Our foreman, working
in the mine, strikes rich quartz, covers it up again, and tells no
one but me. All the shareholders have gone--what you call 'busted,' I
believe? We get hold of many shares cheap, and now I come here to get
the rest. An Englishman owns enough shares to give him control--I
mean that out of two hundred thousand shares I have got ninety-five
thousand, and the rest this Englishman holds. We have traced him
through Oregon to this place, and we lose all sign of him here." (Up
to this moment I had not been particularly interested in the
narration.) She paused, and laying a neatly-gloved hand on my arm
proceeded:

"You are a man of affairs."

I modestly intimated that I was nothing of the kind, only a reporter.

"Ah! yes. You cannot deceive me. I see it in your eye, your face,
your movements. You are a man of large experience and keen
judgment. Your conversation is charming."

As she had spoken for ten minutes without giving me an opportunity to
say a word, I could not quite understand how she arrived at an
estimate of my conversational powers. However, I felt flattered, but
said nothing.

Pressing my arm with her hand, which gave me a warm feeling in the
neighborhood of my heart, she went on:

"I come to you as a man of the world. (I made a gesture of dissent,
but it was very feeble, for I was already caught in the web.) I rely
upon you. I ask you to help me. Bertrand--poor, dear Bertie--has no
head for business--he is too young, too confiding--too--too--what you
English people call simple--no, too good--too noble--he takes after
my family--to know anything about such affairs--so I come to you."

Was it possible that because I was considered unredeemably bad I was
selected for this woman's purpose? As I mused, half disposed to get
angry, I raised my head and my eyes encountered the burning orbs of
the Madame, gazing full into m