He hesitated; his hand wavered towards the sorbet, but he withdrew it and departed.
“Mon Dieu!” I heard him exclaim weakly under his breath.
“Possibly he’s been taking me for an aristocratic compatriot of his own,” I said to Rosie, “and that explains the obsequiousness. You were wrong about the betting.”
I laughed, but I felt ill at ease, and to cover my self-consciousness I went on eating the sorbet very slowly.
I must have consumed nearly a third of it when I became conscious of a movement behind me; a mysterious hand shot out and snatched away the sorbet.
“Sir!” I protested, looking round. A tall, youngish man in evening dress, but wearing his hat, stood on my left. “Sir! what in the name of——?”
“Your pardon!” answered the man in a low hurried voice. I could not guess his nationality. “Let me beg you to leave here at once, and come with me.”
“I shall do no such thing,” I replied. “Waiter—call the manager.” But our waiter had disappeared.
“It is a matter of life and death,” said the man.
“To whom?”