"I can't tell you that, for I haven't seen it yet."
"Are you making a fool of me?"
"How could I see it? He put it straight into his pocket. But I mean to see it pretty soon, and so shall you."
"You mean to abstract it somehow—pick his pocket, or what?"
"Simplest thing in the world. You see he's gone to have his bath, he likes to be early, and he's undergoing the douche at this very moment, which means naturally that he's taken off his clothes, and they are waiting in the dressing-room for me to take home. I shall have a good quarter of an hour and more to spare before they carry him back to the hotel in his blankets and get him to bed."
"Ha!" I said, "that's a brilliant idea. How do you mean to work it out?"
"Take the telegram out of his waistcoat pocket, read it, or bring it to you."
"Bring it; that will be best," I interrupted, feeling a tinge of suspicion.
"But I must put it straight back," continued l'Echelle, "for he is sure to ask for it directly he returns to the hotel."
Within a few minutes he had gone in and out again, carrying now one of the black linen bags used by valets de chambres to carry their masters' clothes in. He winked at me as he passed, and we walked together to a shady, retired spot in the little square where the cab-stand is, and sat in the newspaper kiosk on a couple of straw-bottomed chairs of the Central café.