"For all that I am worth--namely, one hundred and twenty pounds a year, out of which I have to find my livery." "Can you go out and find the Vicomte? I will wait here," asked the Baron, in the utmost distress. It is indeed love that makes the world go round--love of money. "I know where he is usually to be found," was my reply, "and can go and seek him. I will return here in half an hour if I fail to find him." "Yes--yes; go, my good sir--go! And God be with you!" With which inappropriate benediction he almost pushed me out of the room. On making inquiries of the servants, I found my task more difficult than I had anticipated. Monsieur de Clericy had not taken the carriage, as was his habit. He had gone out on foot, carrying, as the butler told me, a bundle of papers in his hand. "They had the air of business papers of value--so closely he held them," added the man. He had taken the direction of the Boulevard, with the intention, it appeared, of calling a cab. I hurried, however, to the Vicomte's favourite club, and learned that he had not been seen there. His habits being more or less known to me, I prosecuted my search in such quarters as seemed likely, but without success. At the Cercle de l'Union I ran against John Turner, who was reading the _Times_ there. "Ah!" he said, "young Howard. Come to lunch, I suppose. You look hungry--gad, what a twist you had that day! Just in time. I can tell you what is worth eating." "Thanks; you know such advice is wasted on a country boor like myself. No; I came seeking the Vicomte de Clericy. Have you seen him?" "Ah! you are still with old Clericy; thought you were up to some mischief--so d--d quiet. Then Mademoiselle is kind?" "Mademoiselle is away," I answered. "Do you know anything of the Baron Giraud?" "Do I know anything of the devil," growled John Turner, returning to the perusal of his newspaper. "Are he and old Clericy putting their heads together? I would not trust Giraud with ten sous so far as the club door." "Exactly!" "Then he and old Clericy _are_ at it--are they?" said John Turner, looking at me over the _Times_ with his twinkling eyes. "And you, Monsieur, _le secretaire_, are anxious about your patron. Ha, ha! You have a lot to learn yet, Master Dick." I looked impatiently at the clock. Twenty minutes had already been wasted in my fruitless search. "Then you haven't seen de Clericy?" "No--my good boy--I haven't. And if you cannot find him you may be sure that it is because he does not want to be found." The words followed me as I left the room. It seemed that John Turner believed in no man. There was nothing for it but to return to the Rue des Palmiers, and tell the Baron that I had failed to find my patron. The cab I had hired was awaiting me, and in a few minutes I was rattling across the bridge of the Holy Fathers.