Chicot looked at him. “That is not your own idea, Henri.”
“Why not?”
“It is too clever, my son.”
“Never mind whose idea it was; answer my question.”
“Well! I heard a ‘Ventre St. Gris’ in the Rue de la Ferronnerie.”
“You heard a ‘Ventre St. Gris!’ But it might not have been he.”
“I saw him.”
“You saw Henri of Navarre in Paris?”
“Yes.”
“You saw my mortal enemy here, and did not tell me?”