CHAPTER XXI.
Checkmate "L'honneur n'existe que pour ceux qui ont de l'honneur." Two or three days later I received a telegram from Sander, couched in the abrupt language affected by that keen-witted individual: "Ask John Turner if he knows Devar." The great banker's affairs were at this time of such moment that it seemed inconsiderate to trouble him with my difficulties.

Also I was beginning to learn a lesson which has since been more fully impressed on my mind--namely, that there is only one person whose interest in one's affairs is continuous and sincere--namely, one's self.

John Turner was a kind friend, and one who, I believe, bestowed a great affection upon a very unworthy object; but at such a time, when France seemed to be crumbling away in the sight of men, it was surely asking too much that I should expect him to turn his thoughts to me.

I called, however, at the hotel where he had established himself, and there learnt from his valet that my friend was in the habit of quitting his temporary abode early in the day, not to return until evening.
"Where does he lunch ?" I asked.
"Sometimes at one place, sometimes at another--wherever they have a good _chef_, sir," the man replied.
I bethought me of my own club and its renown.

Come peace or war, I knew that John Turner never missed his meals.