Gerard did not think the Van Santens were cheats; their father being a man of good repute, as well as of great wealth, it was scarcely likely, even if his sons had turned out loose-principled, that they would take to dubious courses which would endanger their position in society. The sons of such a woman as the gentle Mrs. Van Santen, too, were scarcely the sort of persons to be accused of deliberate fraud. But that the younger made money by his card-playing, and that he boasted of the fact was obvious; and Gerard thought that such a man might very easily become the prey of a clever card-sharper, who might begin by passing himself off as a bungling novice, and end by making considerable sums out of the swaggering American. This was the view he was most inclined to take. Not for one moment did he believe that the mild-eyed Jones was really a victim: he was confident that he had been with Miss Davison on the occasion of the shop-lifting, and he began now to ask himself whether he were not the very man to whom he had seen her handing the flashing ornament on the night of Lord Chislehurst’s ball. Perhaps they were both under the influence of the man in the white mustache. Or perhaps--but this he scarcely believed possible--Cecil Jones was no other than the military-looking man under a disguise. As this last suggestion came into his mind, Gerard tried to recall the voice of the white-haired man, whom he had heard utter a few words to Miss Davison before parting with her at the station. But on that occasion it was Rachel who had spoken clearly enough to be heard, while the man had so subdued his voice that Gerard could just hear him speaking, without being able to make out what he said. Such a remembrance as he retained therefore of the sound of the elderly gentleman’s voice Gerard could not rely upon as a help in his present difficulty. One thing, and one thing only he was quite sure of, Cecil Jones, instead of being the dupe he pretended to be, was a swindler, and a very artful one. Nothing else would explain his conduct adequately. Only a swindler, or a man used to the arts of concealment, would have contrived so often to be seen without being well seen. Only a man who had something to conceal would have affected not to know Miss Davison, when, as a matter of fact, he must be on terms of old acquaintance with her. And only a very clever man could have succeeded so well in feigning absolute stupidity over the cards as he had done. Last and most important thing of all, Gerard was convinced that, carefully as he had concealed himself while watching Jones, that astute person must have seen him and must have laid his plans well in order to throw his pursuer off the track. Sick at heart, and not knowing whether he now hated Miss Davison for her duplicity and her obvious association with undesirable persons, or whether he retained his old longing to believe in her in spite of everything, Gerard went back to his rooms.