"Obtaining a diamond in London," said he; "but there's a dozen others. He's a bad one right through, is the Comte de Faugère."
I said that he must be, and then we both quickened up a bit.
"I'll be coming over here after Nicky Steele, by and by, I fancy," he remarked pleasantly, when we had covered a mile or more.
"Ah," said I, "it will want a sharp man for that job!"
"I won't deny it," cried he; "the way that chap keeps outside the law is a crusher. Here's a health to him!"
He had pulled a silver flask out of his pocket as he spoke, and raised it to his lips. Then he passed it over to me.
"Brandy, mate," said he; "you can't do better in the raw of the morning."
I took a good nip, for the day was bitter cold, and gave him back his flask. But I had not walked on ten yards when I found myself reeling like a drunken man—and then I fell heavily, with him bending over me.
One night, some ten days after I fell down insensible on the road to Brest, Sir Nicolas and I were talking in my bedroom in the village of Folgoet of Mme. Pauline and her château. I was still weak and bruised and unable to leave my bed, and he had come up to say good-night to me.
