"Ah," she said, playing a devil's tattoo on the counter with her fingers, "if I mistake not, you were one of my customers this morning, monsieur. I had the pleasure of serving you."
"I had also the pleasure of serving you this morning, madame."
"So!"
I assumed the voice of a costermonger, and inquired if she wished to buy any more ferns. She caught her breath, and cried, "It was you!"
"It was I, madame. It was also I, madame, who purchased of you last night and gave you a reference."
"A reference, monsieur?"
"A reference, madame—to Mrs. Fordham, Louis' mother, and stepmother to John Fordham, now in prison for murder."
"You are clever, monsieur—very clever." I smiled. "What is your John Fordham to me? And what are you?"
"I have the honor to be a detective. In that capacity behold me here." I thought this rather dramatic and Frenchified, and I had the pleasure of seeing her turn white to the lips. "A comrade is on watch outside," I continued. She slipped from the counter to the door, and peering cautiously about, saw Wheeler, who, I being by her side, gave me a nod of recognition. "Are you satisfied, madame?" I asked, when she had taken her place again behind the counter.
"There is protection for women in this country," she said. "Are you employed by the Government?"