reful.
Some agents, when they obtain a hold on an estate, leave nothing for the
rightful owner. So don't treat with any one."

"Oh, no! You may rest assured I won't."

"I should be quieter in mind if I had your promise in writing."

Without a word, Wilkie darted to a table, and wrote a short contract by
which he bound himself to give M. Ferdinand de Coralth one-half of the
inheritance which the aforesaid Coralth might prove him to be entitled
to. The viscount read the document, placed it in his pocket, and then
said, as he took up his hat:

"Very well. I will see you again on Monday."

But M. Wilkie's doubts were beginning to return. "Monday, so be it!"
said he; "but swear that you are not deceiving me."

"What, do you still doubt me?"

M. Wilkie reflected for a moment; and suddenly a brilliant inspiration
darted through his brain. "If you are speaking the truth, I shall soon
be rich," said he. "But, in the meantime, life is hard. I haven't a
penny, and it isn't a pleasant situation. I have a horse entered for the
race to-morrow, Pompier de Nanterre. You know the animal very well. The
chances are enormously in his favor. So, if it wouldn't inconvenience
you to lend me fifty louis."

"Certainly," interrupted the viscount, cordially. "Certainly; with the
greatest pleasure."

And drawing a beautiful little notebook from his pocket he took from it
not one, but two bank-notes of a thousand francs, and handed them to M.
Wilkie, saying: "Monsieur believes me now, does he not?"

As will be readily believed, it was not for his own pleasure that M. de
Coralth postponed his confidential disclosures for a couple of days. He
knew Wilkie perfectly well, and felt that it was dangerous to let
him roam about Paris with half of an important secret. Postponement
generally furnishes fate with weapons against oneself. But it was
impossible for the viscount to act otherwise. He had not seen the
Marquis de Valorsay since the Count de Chalusse's death and he dared not
conclude the contract with Wilkie before he had conferred with him,
for he was completely in the marquis's power. At the least suspicion of
treason, M. de Valorsay would close his hand, and he, Coralth, would
be crushed like an egg-shell. It was to the house of his formidable
associate that he repaired on leaving M. Wilkie; and in a single breath
he told the marquis all that he knew, and the plans that he had formed.

M. de Valorsay's astonishment must have been inte