‘A week after my return to England I had a visit from Bonchose. I saw at once he was in trouble and after a while it all came out. It seemed he had been losing heavily at cards, and to meet his liabilities he had gone to moneylenders, who were now pressing him for repayment. In answer to my questions, he explained that he had paid off all his loans with the exception of one for £600. That sum he was utterly unable to raise, and if he failed to procure it before the 31st, that was, in about a week, he was a ruined man. I was much annoyed, for I had helped him out of similar scrapes twice before, on each of which occasions he had given me his word not to play again. I felt I could not go on throwing good money after bad, and yet because of our friendship and the debt I owed him for saving my life, I could not see him go to the wall. Divining what was in my mind, he assured me he had not come to beg, saying that he realised I had already done more for him than he deserved. Then he said he had written to Annette telling her the circumstances, and asking, not for a gift, but for a loan on which he would pay four per cent interest. I talked to him seriously, offering no help, but asking him to keep me advised of how things went on. But though I did not tell him, I decided I would pay the £600 rather than see him stuck. ‘“I am going to Paris on Friday,” I ended up, “and hope to dine at the Boirac’s on Saturday. If Annette speaks to me on the subject, I shall tell her you are making an unholy mess of things.” ‘“Don’t put her against helping me,” he pleaded. I said I would not influence her at all, and then he asked me when I was returning, so that he could meet me and hear what had been said. I told him I would cross by Boulogne on Sunday. ‘That week-end, a fortnight after the meeting in the Café Toisson d’Or, I was again in the French capital. On the Saturday morning as I sat in the Hotel Continental meditating a visit to M. Dauphin’s _atelier_, a note was handed to me. It was from Annette, and in it she said she wanted to speak to me in private, asking if I could come at 7.30 that night, instead of the dinner hour of 7.45, and requiring a verbal reply. I gave the necessary assurance to the messenger, who proved to be Annette’s maid, Suzanne. ‘I reached the Boirac’s house at the appointed hour, but I did not see Annette. As I entered, M. Boirac was passing through the hall, and, seeing me, he invited me into his study to look at an engraving which had been sent him on approval. Naturally, I could not refuse. We went to the study and examined the picture. But there was another object in the study which I also saw and commented on. Standing on the carpet was a large cask, and, Mr. Clifford, you will hardly believe me when I tell you it was either the identical cask which was sent me containing poor Annette’s body, or else one so similar as to be indistinguishable!’