The day passed pleasantly and swiftly. Night came only too soon, thought Frank, who was beginning to admire the young French girl immensely.
Dusk fell soon after five o’clock and Marie made ready to go. Heavily cloaked and muffled, she turned in the door as she was about to leave.
“If you will venture to the café again to-night,” she said, “I shall have the papers for you. There is no other place where I can give them to you, so you will have to risk another visit.”
“We shall be there,” said Frank. “I guess we can avoid Lieutenant Holzen some way, if he should be there.”
“He is always there,” replied Marie and a moment later she was gone.
“I guess we had better wait a while,” said Lord Hastings. “Nothing was ever gained by being in a rush.”
Accordingly it was an hour later—almost half-past six o’clock—when the three came again to the little café.
Lord Hastings entered jauntily, not the slightest nervousness in his manner, though his right hand in the pocket of his great coat rested upon the butt of his revolver. Frank and Jack, close behind, also had a hand thrust into their pockets and there was no need to mention what lay within the palm of each.
A waiter approached and conducted them to a table at the far end of the room, but one removed from the one they had had the night before. Lord Hastings gave the order and then, for the first time, glanced around.
There was no sign of Lieutenant Holzen.