Mr. Railton was acquainted with a certain French gentleman who rejoiced in the name--according to his own account--of M. Hippolyte de Vrai-Castille. The name did not sound exactly French--M. de Vrai-Castille threw light on this by explaining that his family came originally from Spain. But, on the other hand, it must be allowed that the name did not sound exactly Spanish, either. London appeared to be this gentleman's permanent place of residence. Political reasons--so he stated--rendered it advisable that he should not appear too prominently upon his--theoretically--beloved _boulevards_. Journalism--always following this gentleman's account of himself--was the profession to which he devoted the flood-tide of his powers. The particular journal or journals which were rendered famous by the productions of his pen were rather difficult to discover--there appeared to be political reasons, too, for that. "The man is an all-round bad lot." This was what Mr. Railton said when speaking of this gentleman to Mr. and Mrs. Macmathers. "A type of scoundrel only produced by France. Just the man we want." "Flattering," observed his friend. "You are going to introduce us to high company." Mr. Railton entertained this gentleman to dinner in a private room at the Hotel Continental. M. de Vrai-Castille did not seem to know exactly what to make of it. Nothing in his chance acquaintance with Mr. Railton had given him cause to suppose that the Englishman regarded him as a respectable man, and this sudden invitation to fraternise took him a little aback. Possibly he was taken still more aback before the evening closed. Conversation languished during the meal; but when it was over--and the waiters gone--Mr. Railton became very conversational indeed. "Look here, What's-your-name"--this was how Mr. Railton addressed M. de Vrai-Castille--"I know very little about you, but I know enough to suspect that you have nothing in the world excepting what you steal." "M. Railton is pleased to have his little jest." If it was a jest, it was not one, judging from the expression of M. de Vrai-Castille's countenance which he entirely relished. "What would you say if I presented you with ten thousand pounds?" "I should say----" What he said need not be recorded, but M. de Vrai-Castille used some very bad language indeed, expressive of the satisfaction with which the gift would be received. "And suppose I should hint at your becoming possessed of another hundred thousand pounds to back it?" "Pardon me, M. Railton, but is it murder? If so, I would say frankly at once that I have always resolved that in those sort of transactions I would take no hand." "Stuff and nonsense! It is nothing of the kind! You say you are a politician. Well, I want you to pose as a patriot--a French patriot, you understand." Mr. Railton's eyes twinkled. M. de Vrai-Castille grinned in reply. "The profession is overcrowded," he murmured, with a deprecatory movement of his hands.