Part 10 (1/2)
Julien smiled.
”Perhaps because it was a matter of moment to him whether you replied or not, whereas, frankly, I only ask you these questions out of the idlest curiosity.”
”Also a little,” she remarked, ”to make conversation, is it not so?
Very well, then, Sir Julien Portel, let me tell you this. If you do not know who that young man is, I do not wonder that you find it necessary to catch the nine o'clock train to the Continent to-night and to give up that delightful work of yours, where you try to keep the peace between all these wicked nations, and to get the lion's share of everything for your great, greedy country. If you do not know who that young man is, you have not the head for detail, the memory, which goes to the making of politicians.”
Julien leaned back in his chair and laughed, softly but genuinely. Even Kendricks seemed a little taken aback.
”Upon my word!” the latter exclaimed. ”This is an interesting young person! Mademoiselle, I congratulate you. You have the gifts.”
”Interesting, indeed!” Julien agreed, sitting up in his place.
”Mademoiselle, to save my reputation with you I must confess. I do know who the young man is. He is in the Intelligence Branch of the Secret Service of the British Foreign Office--Number 3 Department.”
The girl nodded several times.
”What you call it I do not know,” she said. ”He is just one of those ordinary people who go about to collect little items of information for your Government. That is why I have received from him four pounds of chocolate, at least a sovereign's worth of roses, four stalls for the theatre--which I do believe that he had given to him because they were for plays that no one goes to see, and to-night a dinner--such a dinner, messieurs, with chianti that burned my tongue!”
”This,” Kendricks declared, ”is quite a bright young lady!
Mademoiselle, I trust that we shall become better acquainted.”
”And in the meantime,” Julien inquired, ”what are these wonderful items of information which you carry with you, and which this unfortunate young man fails so utterly to elicit?”
”Ah! well,” she sighed, ”I am by profession a manicurist, but some freak of nature gave me the power of keeping my mouth closed, of looking as though I knew a good deal, but of saying so little. Now, messieurs, what could a poor girl know in the way of secrets for which that young man would get credit if he had succeeded in eliciting them?
What could I know, indeed? I sit on my little stool and sometimes there are great people who give me their hands, and they are thoughtful. And sometimes I ask questions and they answer me absently, because, after all, what does it matter?--a manicurist from the shop downstairs, earning her thirty s.h.i.+llings a week, and anxious to be agreeable for the sake of her tip! And then sometimes while I am there they dictate letters, or a caller comes, or the telephone rings. One does not think of the manicure girl at such a time. Fortunately, there are some like me who know so well how to keep silent, to say nothing, to be dumb.”
”The methods of that young man,” Kendricks a.s.serted, ”were crude. Now, young lady, consider my position. I represent a power greater than the power of Governments. I represent a Press which is greedy for personal news. Have you trimmed lately the nails of a d.u.c.h.ess? If so, tell me what she wore, her favorite oath, any trifling expression likely to be of interest to the British public! And instead of roses I will send you carnations; instead of dead-head tickets I will take you myself to the _Gaiety_; instead of a dinner at the Cafe l'Athenee, I will take you to supper at the Milan.”
”Your friend,” mademoiselle declared, smiling at Julien, ”is quite an intelligent person. I like him very much. But I wish he would not smoke that pipe and I should like to buy him a necktie.”
”Julien,” Kendricks sighed, ”the Bohemian has no chance against such a model as you.”
”I do not think,” she remarked, looking Julien in the eyes, ”that Sir Julien Portel cares very much for women--just now, at any rate.”
Julien frowned. He absolutely declined to answer the challenge in her dark eyes.
”Mademoiselle,” he said, ”when I present myself to this Madame Christophor, do I deliver any message from you? Do I explain my visit?”
The girl shook her head slowly.
”It will not be necessary,” she told him. ”Madame Christophor will know all about you. She will be expecting you.”
He smiled scornfully.
”It would be a pity to disappoint a lady with such a remarkable knack of foretelling things. Supposing, however, I change my mind and visit St. Petersburg instead?”
She raised her hands--an expressive gesture.