“I suppose I could,” said Martin. Not till then had he realised the simple fact that if he chose he could walk about with a sack of a thousand sovereigns over his shoulder. He had taken it in an unspeculative way for granted that the capital remained locked up behind impassable doors in the Bank of England. Instinct, however, restrained him from confessing to Bigourdin such innocence in business affairs. “If I did not think it would be as safe here as in the hands of the British Government, I would not make the suggestion.” Martin started upright in his chair. “My dear friend, I know that,” he cried ingenuously, horrified lest he should be thought to suspect Bigourdin’s good faith. “And you would no longer wear that costume.” Bigourdin smiled and waved a hand towards the dress-suit. “Which is beginning to show signs of wear,” said Martin. He glanced down and caught sight of the offending splotch of grease. The quick association of ideas caused a vision of Lucilla to pass before his eyes. He heard her rich, deep voice: “We meet in Egypt.” But how the deuce could they meet in Egypt or in any other Lucilla-lit spot on the earth if he started inn-keeping with Bigourdin, and tied himself down for life to Brantôme? A chill ran down his spine. “_Eh, bien?_” said Bigourdin, recalling him to the _petit salon_. Martin had an inspiration of despair. “I should like,” said he, “to talk the matter over with Fortinbras.” “It is what I should advise,” said Bigourdin heartily. “You can go to Paris whenever you like. And now _n’en parlons plus_. I feel much happier than at the beginning of the evening. It is the brandy of the brave old Brigadier. Let us empty the bottle and drink to the repose of his soul. He would ask nothing better.” CHAPTER XV