They're here in
Brighton. I'd given it up; I was going to dine here, sleep the night,
and go back to London to fight it out--not that it's of any use unless
I can see Meyer--when I saw you. I'll give--I'll give five thousand
pounds to anyone who can get me across to Paris secretly. It's
here--in my pocket." And he tapped his breast.
Sir Tancred thought earnestly for fully five minutes; then he said, "It
can't be done."
"Don't say so! now don't," said the financier, "The money's here!
Here!" and he again slapped his breast pocket.
"It's no use," said Sir Tancred. "I might smuggle you out of the
hotel; but there isn't any sort of vessel, steamer, steam yacht, or
launch to take you across."
"Let's go to Dover in my car!"
"What's the use? The detectives would follow in theirs."
The financier groaned, and some large tears ran down his face. He bent
his head to hide them; and for all that he was not pleasant to look
upon, Tinker felt sorry for him.
"Cheer up, man," said Sir Tancred. "You can always begin again!"
But the financier would not be heartened. He made a wretched dinner;
after it he followed Sir Tancred into the billiard room, and steadily
drinking brandies and sodas, watched him play pool.
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