Part 25 (1/2)
”Nothing more than that he's tall,” she said with every indication of enjoying a tremendous joke. ”His face is all in shadow....”
”Patience!” counselled the adventurer. ”He'll take heart of courage when convinced of our innocence.”
He poised his pen, examined the ceiling for inspiration, and permitted a slow smile to lighten his countenance.
”You'll take this note, if you please,” he said cheerfully, ”to the address on the envelope, by taxi: it's some distance, near the Etoile.... A long chance, but one we must risk; give me half an hour alone and I'll guarantee to discourage this animal one way or another.
You understand?”
”Perfectly,” she laughed archly.
He bent and for a few moments wrote busily.
”Now he's walking slowly round the corner, never taking his eyes from you,” the girl reported, shoulder to his shoulder and head distractingly near his head.
”Good. Can you see him any better?”
”Not yet....”
”This note,” he said, without stopping his pen or appearing to say anything ”is for the concierge of a building where I rent stabling for a little motor-car. I'm supposed there to be a chauffeur in the employ of a crazy Englishman, who keeps me constantly travelling with him back and forth between Paris and London. That's to account for the irregularity with which I use the car. They know me, monsieur and madame of the conciergerie, as Pierre Lamier; and I _think_ they're safe--not only trustworthy and of friendly disposition, but quite simple-minded; I don't believe they gossip much. So the chances are De Morbihan and his gang know nothing of the arrangement. But that's all speculation--a forlorn hope!”
”I understand,” the girl observed. ”He's still prowling up and down outside the hedge.”
”We're not going to need that car tonight; but the hotel of Madame Omber is close by; and I'll follow and join you there within an hour at most. Meantime, this note will introduce you to the concierge and his wife--I hope you won't mind--as my fiancee. I'm telling them we became engaged in England, and I've brought you to Paris to visit my mother in Montrouge; but am detained by my employer's business; and will they please give you shelter for an hour.”
”He's coming in,” the girl announced quietly.
”In here?”
”No--merely inside the row of little trees.”
”Which entrance?”
”The boulevard side. He's taken the corner table. Now a waiter's going out to him.”
”You can see his face now?” Lanyard asked, sealing the note.
”Not well....”
”Nothing you recognize about him, eh?”
”Nothing....”
”You know Popinot and Wertheimer by sight?”
”No; they're only names to me; De Morbihan and Mr. Bannon mentioned them last night.”
”It won't be Popinot,” Lanyard reflected, addressing the envelope; ”he's tubby.”
”This man is tall and slender.”