Part 47 (1/2)
By hook or by crook, he must see the contents of this telegram which his travelling companion was reading with frowning brows. But Fandor might squint in the gla.s.s for the reflection of the message, pa.s.s behind the abbe to peep over his shoulder while pretending to examine the posters decorating the garage walls: he had his pains for his reward: it was impossible to decipher the text.... He must await developments.
When the car was ready to start he decided to speak.
”You have not received vexatious instructions, I hope, Monsieur l'Abbe?”
”Not at all!”
”There is always something disquieting about a telegram!”
”This one tells me nothing I did not know already--at least, suspected! The only result is that instead of going to Havre we shall now go to Dieppe.”
”Why this change of destination?” was Fandor's mental query. ”And what did this precious priest suspect?”
The abbe was giving the chauffeur instructions.
”You will leave Rouen by the new route.... You will draw up at an hotel which you will find on the right, named, if my memory does not play me false, _The Flowery Crossways_.”
”A pretty name!” remarked Fandor.
”A stupid name,” replied the abbe. ”The house does not stand at any cross-roads, and the place is as flowerless as it is possible to be!”
There was a pause. ”That matters little, however, Corporal: the quarters are good--the table sufficient. You shall judge for yourself now: here is the inn!”
Under the skillful guidance of the chauffeur, the car turned sharply, and pa.s.sed under a little arch which served as a courtyard entrance.
The car came to a stand-still in a great yard, crowded with unharnessed carts, stablemen, and Normandy peasants in their Sunday best.
A stout man came forward. His head was as hairless as a billiard ball.
This was the hotel-keeper. To every question put by the little abbe he replied with a broad grin which displayed his toothless gums. His voice was as odd as his appearance, it was high-pitched and quavering.
”You can give us dinner?”
”Why, certainly, Monsieur le Cure.”
”You have a coach-house where the car can be put up?”
With a comprehensive sweep of his arm, mine host of _The Flowery Crossways_ indicated the courtyard. The carts of his regular clients were left there in his charge: he could not see why the motor-car of these strangers could not pa.s.s the night there also.
”And you can reserve three rooms for us?” was the little abbe's final demand.
This time the face of mine host lost its jovial a.s.surance.
”Three rooms? Ah, no, Monsieur le Cure--that is quite impossible!...
But we can manage all the same.... I have an attic for your chauffeur, and a fine double-bedded room for you and Monsieur the corporal....
That will suit you--I think?”
”Yes, quite well! Very well, indeed!” declared Fandor, delighted at this opportunity of keeping his queer travelling companion under his eye.
The little abbe was far from satisfied.
”What! You have not two rooms for us?” he expostulated. ”I have a horror of sharing a room with anyone whatever! I am not accustomed to it; and I cannot sleep under those conditions!”