Part 3 (1/2)
She slipped a ring from her hand and pa.s.sed it to De Morbihan.
There followed silence for an instant, then an exclamation from the Frenchman:
”But it is superb! Accept, mademoiselle, my compliments. It is worthy even of you.”
She flushed prettily as she nodded smiling acknowledgement.
”Ah, you Americans!” De Morbihan sighed. ”You fill us with envy: you have the souls of poets and the wealth of princes!”
”But we must come to Paris to find beautiful things for our women-folk!”
”Take care, though, lest you go too far, Monsieur Bannon.”
”How so--too far?”
”You might attract the attention of the Lone Wolf. They say he's on the prowl once more.”
The American laughed a trace contemptuously. Lanyard's fingers tightened on his knife and fork; otherwise he made no sign. A sidelong glance into a mirror at his elbow showed Roddy still absorbed in the Daily Mail.
The girl bent forward with a look of eager interest.
”The Lone Wolf? Who is that?”
”You don't know him in America, mademoiselle?”
”No....”
”The Lone Wolf, my dear Lucia,” the valetudinarian explained in a dryly humourous tone, ”is the sobriquet fastened by some imaginative French reporter upon a celebrated criminal who seems to have made himself something of a pest over here, these last few years. n.o.body knows anything definite about him, apparently, but he operates in a most individual way and keeps the police busy trying to guess where he'll strike next.”
The girl breathed an incredulous exclamation.
”But I a.s.sure you!” De Morbihan protested. ”The rogue has had a wonderfully successful career, thanks to his dispensing with confederates and confining his depredations to jewels and similar valuables, portable and easy to convert into cash. Yet,” he added, nodding sagely, ”one isn't afraid to predict his race is almost run.”
”You don't tell me!” the older man exclaimed. ”Have they picked up the scent--at last?”
”The man is known,” De Morbihan affirmed.
By now the conversation had caught the interest of several loitering waiters, who were listening open-mouthed. Even Roddy seemed a bit startled, and for once forgot to make business with his newspaper; but his wondering stare was exclusively for De Morbihan.
Lanyard put down knife and fork, swallowed a final mouthful of Haut Brion, and lighted a cigarette with the hand of a man who knew not the meaning of nerves.
”Garcon!” he called quietly; and ordered coffee and cigars, with a liqueur to follow....
”Known!” the American exclaimed. ”They've caught him, eh?”
”I didn't say that,” De Morbihan laughed; ”but the mystery is no more--in certain quarters.”
”Who is he, then?”
”That--monsieur will pardon me--I'm not yet free to state. Indeed, I may be indiscreet in saying as much as I do. Yet, among friends...”