"Is everything all right?" he asked hurriedly.
"All right," the man answered curtly. "Of course."
"Kervoisin is upstairs," Naniescu went on. "Come and tell us all about it."
He ran upstairs two at a time; the man in the military coat followed more slowly.
"Here is Number Ten," Naniescu announced, as he ushered the man into the room where Kervoisin was patiently waiting and smoking cigarettes. Kervoisin rose at once, a word of welcome on his lips. But at sight of the man he paused and frowned, obviously mystified, until gradually his face cleared and he exclaimed:
"Bon Dieu! I should never have known you."
"I do look a disgusting object, don't I?" the man retorted. He shook hands cordially with Kervoisin; then he threw off his heavy coat and sank, obviously exhausted, into a chair.
"A cup of coffee?" Naniescu suggested.
"Thanks!" the other replied.
He drank the coffee, then took a cigarette from the case which de Kervoisin offered him. He looked a regular vagrant, with face and neck stained both with grease paint and with grime, his hands were soiled with motor grease, and his hair hung lank and matted into his eyes. He had what looked like a two weeks' growth of beard on his chin and upper lip, and his clothes—if indeed what he wore could be called clothes—were a mere bundle of rags.