The poet’s sleepy gaze changed into one of astonishment.
‘But have I said anything about China?’ he demanded, evidently in some dismay.
‘You have said nothing. I am accustomed to draw inferences in my work, and there is no time to lose if I am to start as soon as I have said.’
‘The affair is not so pressing,’ the poet remarked with a smile. ‘The hurry and flurry of the West are not known in that delightful country. It will be quite soon enough if you start to-morrow, or the day after.’
‘So much the better. Am I to go to Pekin or Sing-fu?’
‘To Sing-fu.’ M. Bignaud’s tone betrayed a mild surprise at my guess. ‘It is unnecessary, I suppose, to observe that the mission is confidential?’
That is the sort of remark which always irritates me.
‘I am a confidential agent,’ I retorted curtly. ‘To whom am I to report myself?’
M. Bignaud leant forward impressively.
‘To the Dowager Empress!’