‘Lebrun! You!’ he ejaculated in astonishment. ‘I thought you were one of the police.’
‘It is the other way about,’ I answered. ‘The police have been after me; that is why I have had to disguise myself. But let us come inside, I want to talk to you.’
As I expected, he tried to prevent me going in.
‘No, not there. I have some one on business.’
‘Business of the cause?’ I demanded.
‘Yes—no, private business.’
‘I will wait in the shop till he is gone,’ I returned, and pushed my way through the door, the cripple following.
The tall, dark figure started to its feet in evident alarm as we entered. I saw a brown hand glide towards the bosom, an action which told me that I was not dealing with a European. In the dim light of the little shop I could not fix the stranger’s nationality more precisely. He did not seem to be an Arab; he was above the grade of a negro. If I had met him in Algiers I should have called him a Sudanese, a convenient term for the unknown races of Africa.
The situation was a complicated one. The watchmaker, it was evident, did not more than half believe my account of myself; I could not tell that the stranger really had any connection with the mystery I wanted to unravel; and he must have been utterly confounded by my intrusion.
‘Is your friend one of us? Does he know anything about the business you put before me the other day?’ I asked of the Swiss in Italian.