I
don't know anything about the Italian who is working with them down
here. But a gang of the Welch-Vaurigard-Sneyd type has tentacles all
over the Continent; such people are in touch with sharpers everywhere,
you see."
"Yes," Cooley interpolated, "and with woolly little lambkins, too."
"Well," chuckled Cornish, "that's the way they make their living, you
know."
"Go on and tell him the rest of it," urged Cooley.
"About Lady Mount-Rhyswicke," said Cornish, "it seems strange enough,
but she has a perfect right to her name. She is a good deal older than
she looks, and I've heard she used to be remarkably beautiful. Her third
husband was Lord George Mount-Rhyswicke, a man who'd been dropped from
his clubs, and he deserted her in 1903, but she has not divorced him. It
is said that he is somewhere in South America; however, as to that I do
not know."
Mr. Cornish put the very slightest possible emphasis on the word "know,"
and proceeded:
"I've heard that she is sincerely attached to him and sends him money
from time to time, when she has it--though that, too, is third-hand
information.
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