CHAPTER XXIV.
WE ARRIVE IN PARIS
As we traveled to the sea I narrated what had occurred in my quest for Dr. Cooper, and was allowed to do so without interruption. Bob was unusually silent in the presence of his nephew and Barbara, and this silence was, as it were, enforced by himself. Several times he seemed to be on the point of interrupting me for the purpose of asking questions, and on each occasion he pulled up short and said nothing. Neither did Ronald speak much. It would have been natural had he made some observations upon the reason of Dr. Cooper's sudden departure in the company of Mr. Nisbet, and had he inquired whether I really believed the two men were traveling together. But respecting these matters he preserved absolute silence, and when he spoke it was upon any other subject than that of our all-engrossing mission. Barbara, also, had very little to say for herself-being altogether lost in the wonder of the adventure which was to introduce her to foreign countries-so we were not a very lively party as we were whirled to Dover. We were less inclined for liveliness when we were at sea, all of us, with the exception of Ronald, being prostrate and helpless, the passage being a bad one. With the earth beneath our feet we soon recovered, and were reconciled to life, though Barbara plaintively inquired if we couldn't get back another way. Her appearance attracted a great deal of attention to us, of which we took no notice, being too deeply occupied with our own affairs. We were only twenty minutes late, and before eight o'clock we alighted at the Hôtel de Bade, where we engaged rooms, keeping Barbara as much out of sight as possible. The first thing we did was to go out and purchase a suitable outfit for the child at an immense establishment, the "Old England," where everything in the way of dress could be obtained, and when she was arrayed in her attire she said she felt like a princess. Of course she was in a state of bewildered admiration at the lights of Paris, which she declared beat "a theayter," and I have no doubt she thought either that she was dreaming or taking a part in a ravishing fairy story. Upon our return to the hotel I found a telegram awaiting me from Mr. Dickson, from which we learned that Mr. Nisbet and a gentleman who had accompanied him from London were at the Hôtel Chatham. The last words of the telegram were, "Do nothing till you hear from me again. If you make open inquiries you may ruin all." This advice was sound but irritating, our mistaken impression being that by remaining idle, we were playing into the enemy's hands. There was nothing else for it, however; we were bound to wait for further information and instruction. We sent Barbara to bed early, and bade her not to leave her room in the morning till we called for her; then we went out and paced the bright boulevards. As we strolled and chatted Ronald suggested that we ought to ascertain for ourselves whether Mr. Nisbet and Dr. Cooper were at the Hôtel Chatham; he had become very restless, and we endeavored in vain to argue him out of the idea. We only succeeded in prevailing upon him to allow Bob to go alone to the hotel, and find some excuse for looking over the book of arrivals in the office for the names of Nisbet and Cooper.
"Mr. Nisbet knows you," I said to Ronald, "and if he should see you we may as well return at once to England, for we shall have put him on his guard and have brought about our own defeat. He may also have some idea of my appearance, either from seeing me without my being aware of it, or from the description given of me by Dr. Cooper, and there would be danger in my going to make inquiries. Your uncle is the safest party; Mr. Nisbet can know nothing of him, and if they meet his suspicions will not be aroused."
Bob went by himself to the Hôtel Chatham, not without inward misgivings, for he knew but a few words of French, and Ronald's assurance that the waiters and the managers could all speak English did not set him at his ease. However, he left us at the corner of Rue Daonou, making us promise not to wander away, in case he should not be able to find us upon his return, for he was distrustful of himself in the Paris streets, this being his first visit to the Continent. It was also my first visit, and I could not help thinking how poor a match for Mr. Nisbet Bob and I would have been without the assistance of Ronald Elsdale. Ronald was blind, it is true, but he could speak French and German fluently, and it was really he who guided us through the streets; he was familiar with every shop and building of note, and there was no fear of our losing our way in his company.
Bob was absent fifteen minutes or so, and he came back with the information that the name of Mr. Oliver Nisbet was on the books as having arrived this evening, but that he could not find the name of Cooper.
"Did you see anyone answering to their description?" asked Ronald.
"No one," replied Bob.
"All the better," I remarked.
"Why?" said Ronald. "Do you suppose they have any suspicion that they are being followed?"
"That is a question I cannot answer," I said, "though the probability is that Mr. Nisbet believes himself safe, or he would hardly have gone to so central a hotel as the Chatham; but it is certain that they are proceeding with some degree of caution, or the name of Cooper would have been found in the arrival book. Has any idea suggested itself to you that would be likely to explain the reason of Mr. Nisbet choosing Dr. Cooper as a companion?"
"Many ideas have suggested themselves," answered Ronald, "of which I have not yet spoken; but we will follow this one out, to see if we agree. You paid a visit to Dr. Cooper on Sunday evening, and, as his wife said to you this morning, he let his tongue run too freely. Her remark proves that some conversation must have passed between them as to your visit, and that Dr. Cooper recalled-not very distinctly perhaps-what it was he said. My belief is that this conversation took place in the presence of a third party, who was chiefly responsible for it."
"Of a third party!" I exclaimed.
"The third party," continued Ronald, "being Mr. Oliver Nisbet, who visited the Coopers on the following night. He must have had some motive for this visit, for it is not likely-after what you learned from Dr. Cooper's lips of the feeling he entertained toward Mr. Nisbet-that this gentleman would have paid his accomplice a visit in which there was no direct motive. I speak of them as accomplices because there is no doubt in my mind on the point. Dr. Cooper was bribed to give a false death certificate, false for the reason that he was not in a position to give a true one, and for this service Mr. Nisbet paid him, and made promises (according to Dr. Cooper) which he did not fulfill. Whether these promises were or were not as Dr. Cooper hinted is of small moment in what we are discussing, the one thing certain being that Dr. Cooper labored under a sense of injury, and believed himself to have been wronged. It is more than probable that, in some way, Dr. Cooper conveyed this impression to Mr. Nisbet, and that he was aware of it. This must have occurred years ago, and shortly afterward Dr. Cooper loses sight of his employer, and has no means of communicating with him. If he had known where to write to him he would certainly have done so, in his state of poverty, and would most likely have thrown out some kind of threat. During this interval Mr. Nisbet keeps himself hidden from the man who has served him at a critical time; he has no use for him; all evidence of the crime (the nature of which has yet to be discovered) he has committed is destroyed, and there is only one person in the world who can throw the remotest suspicion upon him; that person is Dr. Cooper, and even he, if he dared take open action, would find himself implicated in the consequences. So matters rest for a considerable time, and we come now to the present. It is on Sunday only that you are informed by the private inquiry agent you employed that Mr. Nisbet had returned to London and was staying at the Métropole. Again crops up the hidden motive for his return. Was it to visit the house in Lamb's Terrace in which the crime was committed? Was it to seek Dr. Cooper for the purpose of obtaining his assistance in a fresh crime to be committed on foreign soil? Conjecture only will assist us here, for we know nothing; but conjecture, put to a logical use, may lead to the right conclusion. I assert that Mr. Nisbet's visit to London was expressly made either to go to Lamb's Terrace or to see Dr. Cooper; certainly for one of these reasons, perhaps for both. When you learn that he is in London you are on your way to Dr. Cooper's house; you find him; you have a singular conversation with him; you return home, and my uncle informs you of the discovery of the clothes he has found in the attic cupboard. That those clothes belonged to Beatrice and the servant cannot be disputed. On Monday morning, after my uncle leaves you to find a temporary home for poor little Barbara, you also leave the fated house several hours, and you take especial care to deposit the clothes in what you believe to be a place of safety; unfortunately, as it happened, in the place in which they were first discovered. Now, who knows of that place of deposit? You, my uncle, and Mr. Nisbet. During your absence Mr. Nisbet obtains easy admission to the house, goes straight to the attic cupboard, and bears away with him the garments which, by devious circumstantial evidence, might be a danger to him. While he is in the house some signs therein lead him to suspect that it is not absolutely untenanted, and he sets watch upon it in the night. Looking from the window of the room occupied by you and my uncle you see Mr. Nisbet standing in the garden in a watchful, observant attitude; and as he stands there the spectral monitor which has set this inquiry at work gives you a sign-an unmistakable sign from the spiritual throne of justice. Rank heresy or blind fatuity might misinterpret this sign; to you, to my uncle, to me, it is as clear as sunlight. It declared this man to be guilty of a horrible crime; it was like the writing on the wall. Satisfied or not, Mr. Nisbet leaves Lamb's Terrace, and goes to South Lambeth to see Dr. Cooper, of whose movements during the years that have passed he has had full knowledge. Mr. Nisbet is not only a dangerous man and a criminal, he is a man of resource and powerful intellect, and such a man leaves little to chance. Closeted with Dr. Cooper and his wife, he hears of your visit to him the previous evening; he worms out of his accomplice all that the man can recollect of your conversation with him; and he scents danger. Now, as I have said, whether he went to Dr. Cooper in the first instance to obtain his assistance in a fresh crime on foreign soil is hidden from us, but I am convinced that what he learns during this interview induces him to expedite his movements. He bids Dr. Cooper hold himself in readiness, and wins the wife's confidence by giving her money; thus they are both on his side. Were we and Dr. Cooper now in London you would worm nothing more out of him. Forewarned is to be forearmed, and his wife would see that he was not tampered with. When Mr. Nisbet leaves Dr. Cooper last night, he has not quite settled the order or time of his future movements, but considering the matter afterward he sees the advisability of getting out of England without delay. Hence his resolution to leave for the Continent this morning; hence his telegram to Dr. Cooper to meet him immediately for the purpose of catching the early train; hence the hurried and sudden departure, with the particulars of which we are acquainted. Have I made myself clear?"
"Quite clear."
"He does not suspect that he is being followed; he does not suspect that his departure is known; least of all does he suspect that I am taking part in the hunt. But at the same time he recognizes the necessity of caution, and that is why Dr. Cooper is traveling under an assumed name."
A question was trembling on my tongue; it was whether, in the light of all that had been disclosed to him, the delusion he labored under with respect to Beatrice was now dispelled; but I feared to pain him, and I did not give utterance to the question.
"Do you not think," he said, "that Mr. Dickson has been rather remiss in not giving you the name and address of the agent who traveled, unknown to Mr. Nisbet, from London with him?"
"I wish he had done so," I replied, "for then we could have some conversation with him to-night, which might have been of service to us. The telegram he sent me is a long one, and perhaps I shall have a letter from him in the morning."
This proved to be the case. In it Mr. Dickson acknowledged that it would have been as well if he had given me the name and address of his agent in his telegram; the name was Rivers, his address Hôtel Richmond. He had not heard from Mr. Rivers, he said, but when he did he would communicate to me everything the letter contained of any importance. I went at once to the Hôtel Richmond, which was not more than five minutes' walk from the Hôtel de Bade, and inquired for Mr. Rivers, and I took Ronald with me as interpreter, leaving Bob to look after Barbara.
"M. Rivers?" said the waiter, "but he has departed."
"When?"
"This morning early. He slept but one night."
"Do you know where he has gone?"
"No, I do not know; I will ask the manager."
The manager did not know. After his coffee and roll M. Rivers had paid his bill and given up his room. Did he leave in a cab? No, he left on foot, carrying his bag with him. Perhaps he went to a railway station? Ah, it was possible. Perhaps he was still in Paris. Ah, it was possible. If M. Rivers returned to the hotel, would the manager give him my card with a few words in pencil on it, asking him to come immediately to the Hôtel de Bade? M. Rivers should have the card, yes, with much pleasure. And so, good-morning.
I half expected to receive a letter from my wife, demanding an explanation of my running away, but there was none for me.
And now, nothing would satisfy Ronald but that Bob should go to the Hôtel Chatham, to ascertain if Mr. Nisbet was still there. He went and returned, we waiting for him as before at the corner of the Rue Daonou. Mr. Nisbet had left the hotel.
"I spoke to a fool of a waiter," said Bob, "who thought he could speak English, and that is all I could get out of him."
Ronald walked off at once to the hotel, and, knowing it would be useless to remonstrate, we followed him through the courtyard and into the office. There he entered into a conversation in French with a clerk. Yes, M. Nisbet and his friend had partaken of the usual first meal of the Frenchman, and had paid his bill and given up his room. Did they expect him to return? No, they did not. Had he and his friend occupied one room? Yes, a room with two beds. Did they leave on foot or in a cab? In a cab. For a railway station? Possibly. Did the clerk know for which railway station? He did not; he would inquire, if it was of importance. It was of great importance-would he kindly inquire. The concierge was questioned. He did not know for which railway station. The waiters were questioned. They did not know for which railway station. And so, good-morning again. Thus were we left aground, as it were, with nothing but broken threads in our hands. Mr. Nisbet and Dr. Cooper had escaped us.
CHAPTER XXV.
WE COME TO A HALT
The indefinite replies to our questions at the two hotels rendered us helpless. It was not even certain whether the men we were pursuing had left Paris, and Bob privately threw out to me an uncomfortable suggestion that Mr. Nisbet might have discovered we were watching him, and was turning the tables by watching us. Ronald was not in hearing when this was said; he was in a state of extreme agitation; and we were careful to do or say nothing to excite him. Despite his perturbation, however, he was the only one of our party whose reasoning on the position of affairs was fairly logical, and who made a sensible attempt to arrive at a probable sequence of events. Sitting down in the courtyard of the Hôtel de Bade for the purpose of discussing matters, Bob and I proceeded to plunge them into further confusion by our wild conjectures, and Ronald, after listening to us in silence for a few minutes, brought us to order.
"All this talk is useless," he said; "let us argue like reasonable beings. The first thing we have to decide is whether Mr. Nisbet and his confederate have left Paris. What is your opinion?"
"I have none," I said.
"I am in the same predicament," said Bob.
"But we can be logical, at all events," said Ronald. "Compelled for a time to remain idle and in the dark, we can put flint and steel together in the endeavor to produce a light. I am inclined to the belief that they are no longer in the city. For what reason should they change hotels? Whatever may be the cause of their sudden association they would certainly wish to keep their movements quiet, and they would frustrate their wish by flitting from one hotel to another. From what I learned, Mr. Nisbet has paid frequent visits to Paris, and as his name appears frequently on the books of the Hôtel Chatham it is natural to suppose he has been in the habit of putting up there. If he had any fear that he was being followed, he would not yesterday have gone to an hotel where he was well known, but would have chosen another which was not in the center of the city, and where he would be less open to observation. The time they left the hotel favors the conclusion that they were bound for a railway station, and this conclusion is strengthened by the early departure of Mr. Rivers, whose occupations have made him more methodical than ourselves. We are apprentices in the craft; he is an expert. The inquiry agent in London has doubtless telegraphed him of our arrival here, and where we are staying-in which case he would have called upon us long before now. Yes, the tracked and the tracker are no longer in the city."
"You have convinced me," said Bob, and I also recorded my conviction.
"The point to determine is," continued Ronald, "for what place they are bound. No person in Paris can assist us. Our only hope is in Mr. Dickson. Let us wire to him at once."
He and I went off straightway to the telegraph office, where we dispatched a message to Mr. Dickson. Bob remained in the hotel with Barbara, in order to receive a possible caller, who, it is needless to say, did not make his appearance. The answer to our telegram was that Mr. Dickson had received no information from his agent Rivers, that he had every confidence in his man, and that the moment he heard from him he would send us another wire. Meanwhile, we were to remain where we were, at the Hôtel de Bade. Nothing further reached us until nine o'clock at night, and then a welcome telegram, to the effect that the party were on their way to Lucerne, whither we had better follow them by the earliest train. "Put up at Hôtel National," were the concluding words of the message. Upon studying the railway trains we found that nothing was to be gained by starting in the night, and early the following morning we were on the road to Lucerne. At the Hôtel National a telegram from Mr. Dickson awaited us, instructing us to remain at the hotel until we heard from Mr. Rivers, whom we might now consider in direct communication with us, and before many hours had passed we received a note from that gentleman. "Take the boat" (wrote Mr. Rivers) "to Tell's Platte. I am stopping at the Hôtel-Pension zur Tellsplatte, and shall be happy to see you there. From, indications we have reached the terminus." This was agreeable news, and seemed to hold out the promise that we had at length tracked Mr. Nisbet down. We wasted no time, but took the first boat, and were presently steaming down the enchanting lake, the beauties of which perhaps only one of us thoroughly enjoyed, the little girl Barbara. "Oh," she sighed, "if Molly's 'ere, I don't wonder she never came back to London." It was three in the afternoon when we landed at Tell's Platte. We were in no mood for sightseeing, and did not therefore visit the chapel, but ascended the hill that led to the hotel, where we found Mr. Rivers waiting for us.
He came forward to greet us, a short, wiry man, with clean-shaved face, browned with exposure to the sun, and a bright eye. He addressed me by name.
"Mr. Emery?"
"Yes."
"May I ask the name of the gentleman who is doing business for you in London?"
"Mr. Dickson."
"Have you anything you can show me from him?"
I produced telegrams and letters, and he looked over them and returned them to me.
"Quite right, sir. My employer told me there were four in your party. It is always necessary to make sure in such an affair as ours. We have a sharp gentleman to deal with, and there's no saying what tricks he might be up to, and what he knows or doesn't know. I am Mr. Rivers."
As I shook hands with him, I started, and he looked at me suspiciously.
"Anything the matter?" he inquired suspiciously.
"No," I replied, "nothing, nothing."
I introduced Ronald and Bob to him, and then Barbara.
"I've a little girl at home," he said in a kind tone, laying his hand on Barbara's head, "just your age and build." Then addressing me, "I have arranged rooms for you here. Very moderate-six francs a day; they must make a reduction for the girl."
"You anticipate that we shall remain here some time," I said.
"Until the business is finished, I expect. I should have liked a more retired spot, and perhaps it would have been as well if there were not so many of you; but that can't be helped, I suppose. There is no other place we could all have stopped at, and as we are to work together we must keep together. I will show you your rooms, and after you have had a wash we gentleman will have a chat, while Barbara can run about and amuse herself. By the way, you will be asked for your names. Don't give your own; I haven't given mine; never throw away a chance."
I must explain what caused me to start as I shook hands with Mr. Rivers. From the time we left London I had not seen the spectral cat, and I had an idea that it had taken its leave for good. But at that moment, casting my eyes to the ground, there was the apparition in full view. Much as it had troubled me during the first days of our acquaintanceship I had by this time grown accustomed to it, and no longer regarded it with fear and aversion. In stating that I was glad to see it now, I am stating the truth, for it was to me an assurance that we had "reached the terminus," as Mr. Rivers expressed it in his note, and that we had been led in the right direction.
"Now we can have our chat," said Mr. Rivers, as we left the hotel together. "According to present appearances we have plenty of time before us, and nothing certainly can be done to-day. Whether anything at all can be done remains to be seen. Sometimes in an inquiry of a delicate nature we come to a block, and the next step depends entirely upon chance; it may be so in this case. I had best commence by telling you my position in the affair, and it will do no harm if I am quite frank with you. First and foremost, then, I am totally ignorant of what it is you wish to discover. My employer calls me into his private room, and gives me certain instructions. 'A gentleman has just arrived from the Continent,' he says, 'and is stopping at the Métropole. You will take him in hand, and keep close watch upon his movements. You are not to leave him a moment, and you are not for one moment to lose sight of him.' We generally hunt in couples when instructions like those are given, because it isn't possible for one man to keep watch day and night, so while I was in London on the job I had a comrade, and we divided the watch so that we could get some sleep. I asked my employer if the instructions were to be carried out to the strict letter. 'To the strict letter,' he answered. 'Suppose the gentleman suddenly goes abroad?' I asked. 'You are to follow him,' he answered. That was the reason of my sudden disappearance from London, without having had time to consult my employer. I went alone, without my comrade; I did not feel warranted in incurring double expenses, and I thought I could manage the affair by myself when we were out of England. I was right, as it has turned out. Mr. Nisbet is here with another gentleman, and has taken up his quarters in a house about two miles away, which he has inhabited on and off for several years."
"Is that your idea of shadowing a man," asked Ronald, "when you are instructed not to lose sight of him for a moment and to keep close watch upon all his movements?"
"Begging your pardon, sir," replied Mr. Rivers, not the least ruffled by the rather sharp manner in which the question was asked, "a man can do no more than his best, and I have done that. Then he must be guided by circumstances. Keeping a watch upon a man in London is one thing; keeping watch upon him in a village like this is another. There is no place in the world in which a man can lose himself so easily, if he is inclined that way, as London. I tell you, it's a difficult job to carry out properly, to keep your eye on a man in a large city, with its windings and turnings and crowds of people pushing this way and that. He gives you the slip when you least expect it, and there's the labor of days and weeks thrown away. It is quite a different matter here. A man comes and a man goes, and he can't keep his coming and going from the few people there are about. There are no cabs and omnibuses, no crowds to worry you and put you off the scent. When he moves from one spot to another he has to make preparations; he has to walk along unfrequented roads where he is in full sight of anyone interested in him. There are other drawbacks which one who knows the ropes has to reckon with. He can't keep watch here as he does in a large city; if he prowls and sneaks about, if he's seen haunting a particular spot for days, if he shadows a particular house and keeps his eye on it continually, he draws notice to himself. People ask what for? It comes to the ears of the man he's observing who, in turn, shadows him, and there's his apple cart upset. Another consideration. Strike a man in a street in London, and a crowd collects. Strike a man on the head here when he's prowling up and down a lonely road, and no one sees it. Down he goes like a stone, and he can be done to death, and his body hidden in a hundred holes-and who's the wiser? That couldn't well be done, I grant you, to man, woman, or child who lives here; the absence is remarked, and the relations don't rest till they've found out what has become of the missing one. It's different with a stranger, who stops a day or so, or a week or so, and then, without a word, disappears. So long as he's here the hotel keeper takes an interest in him, because of the bill; the moment he's gone he's forgotten, and it's make way for the next. I've been employed on some difficult jobs in my time, and I'm not sure that this is not going to beat the record."
"What makes you think so?" inquired Ronald.
"I don't like the looks of the gentleman for one thing," replied Mr. Rivers, "and for the second thing I don't like the little I've found out about him since I've been here. But that's running ahead of my story. I'll get back to the London part of it, and make a finish of that. I suppose that is necessary, for my employer has written to me to put myself into your hands entirely, and to tell you everything I know. Well, in London a remarkable thing happened. There's a house in Lamb's Terrace-79's the number-that is almost as lonely as any house round about us now. On the first day I shadowed Mr. Nisbet he paid three visits to Lamb's Terrace, and it was as much as I could do to keep myself out of his sight. I succeeded, though, because I was on my guard, and he never set eyes on me. The first visit he paid he did nothing more than reconnoiter; I put a reason to that. There happened to be an old man poking about the ground there for bits of rags and bones, and Mr. Nisbet didn't seem to relish his company. So, after reconnoitering ten or fifteen minutes, and as the old ragpicker didn't seem as if he was going to leave in a hurry, Mr. Nisbet cut his lucky, and walked out of the neighborhood. On his second visit there was no one in sight, and Mr. Nisbet, looking carefully around, took a key from his pocket, and let himself in. He remained in the house half an hour by my watch, and he came out with a bundle. There was something suspicious in that, I thought, but it was not my business to inquire into it. My instructions were clear, and I couldn't go beyond them. Besides, what call had I to tap the gentleman on the shoulder and say, 'I'll trouble you to tell me what you have under your arm?' I should only have got myself in trouble, because our concern is a private one, and we haven't got the law to back us up. He took the bundle with him to the Métropole and left it there. He paid his third visit to Lamb's Terrace in the night, and this time he didn't go into the house. He didn't go to the front at all, but made his way to the back, and scrambled over the wall. He kept in the garden there, which is just choked up with weeds, for a precious long time, and all he did was to look up at the windows. I thought his going into an empty house in daylight and bringing out a bundle was queer, but I thought this last move a good deal queerer, for he kept quite still, and never took his eyes off the windows. When he'd had his fill he scrambled back over the wall and came away. From there he went straight to Theobald Row, South Lambeth, and knocked at the door of a chemist's shop kept by a doctor. The name over the shop window was Cooper. He stayed there an hour, and then returned to the Métropole. On the morning we left London I hadn't the ghost of an idea that he intended to start for Paris, and I followed him out of the Métropole to St. George's Hospital, outside of which he met the gentleman who has traveled with him to this place. I watched them pretty narrowly when we were on the steamer, but I didn't venture into the same carriage with them when we traveled by rail. On the steamer and in Paris, and wherever I could keep my eyes on them, they seemed pretty thick, and I fancied once or twice that they didn't quite agree with each other. Whenever they talked it was away from people, and I knew that it was not accidental that they should always choose spots where they couldn't be overheard. On those occasions I wouldn't risk discovery by going near them, but watched them from a distance, and once or twice I saw Mr. Nisbet look at his companion in a way that made me think, 'I shouldn't like to meet you on a dark road, my friend, and for you to know that I was shadowing you.' There was a cold glitter in his eyes which might easily mean murder, and that is what makes me say again to you, gentlemen, that we shall have to be very careful in what we do in this part of the world."