Part 8 (2/2)
”For you, monsieur,” he announced, and laid it by the side of Julien's plate.
”Read it,” Kendricks whispered across the table, for he had been quick to see his companion's first impulse.
”Why should I?” Julien said coldly. ”I have no desire to have anything to do with that young person. What can she have to say to me?”
”Nevertheless, read it,” Kendricks repeated.
Julien unrolled the sc.r.a.p of paper with reluctant fingers. There were only a few words written there in hasty pencil:
Monsieur, there is a friend of mine whom you must see. Call at number 17, Avenue de St. Paul and ask for Madame Christophor. Do not attempt to speak to me. This is for your good.
Julien's fingers were upon the note to destroy it, but again Kendricks stopped him.
”Julien,” he insisted, ”don't be an idiot. The little girl knows who you are. She can't imagine that you are in the humor just now for flirtations. Put the note in your pocket and call. One can't tell. Your life has been so artificial that you've probably left off believing in any adventures outside story-books. My life leads me into different places and I never neglect an opportunity like that.”
”A sister manicurist, I expect,” Julien replied scornfully; ”a palmist, or some creature of that sort.”
Kendricks hammered upon the table for the waiter.
”One takes one's chances,” he agreed, ”but I do not think that the little girl over there would send you upon a fool's errand. There are other things in life, you know, Julien. You carry in your head political secrets which would be worth a great deal. There may be danger in that call.”
Julien looked at him with faintly curling lip.
”Tell me exactly what you mean?” he asked.
Kendricks shrugged his shoulders. The waiter had arrived and he gave him a vociferous order.
”Listen,” he said, ”I could hand you out a hundred surmises and each one of them ought to be sufficient to induce you to keep that appointment. You leave here--shall we say under a cloud?--presumably disgusted with life, with the Government which gives you no second chance, with your country which discards you. And you have been Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. Can't you conceive that this woman on whom you are to call might make suggestions to you which would at least be amusing? Don't look so incredulous, Julien. Remember you've lived in the stilted places. I haven't. I believe in the underground world. You must know for yourself that a great deal of the truth leaks up through the gratings.”
”That is true enough,” Julien admitted, ”but somehow or other--”
”Let it go at that,” Kendricks interrupted. ”Promise me that you will call at that address.”
Julien laughed.
”Yes, I'll call!” he promised.
”Then look across at the little girl and nod,” Kendricks suggested.
”She's watching you all the time anxiously. The man hasn't come back yet.”
Julien turned his head half unwillingly. The girl was leaning across the table, her eyes fixed steadfastly upon his. Her lips were parted, her eyebrows were slightly raised, as though in question. She had been holding a menu before her face to s.h.i.+eld her from the casual observer, but the moment Julien turned his head she lowered it. He inclined his head slowly. A curious expression of relief took the place of that appearance of strained anxiety. Her face became natural once more. She laid down the menu and took a sip of wine from her gla.s.s. Kendricks looked across at Julien and raised his gla.s.s to his lips.
”We will drink, my dear Julien,” he said, ”to your visit to Madame Christophor, and what may come of it!”
CHAPTER VII
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