The eyes of Madame seemed to narrow for a moment. Monsieur Louis lit a cigarette with fingers which shook a little, and the fair face of Mademoiselle Flossie was suddenly white. Then they all three looked at one another.
"Do you know whom Monsieur may mean?"
"Not I!"
"An English girl! There are none come here."
"Mademoiselle Poynton! It is a name unheard of."
The young Englishman smiled upon them grimly.
"Madame," he said, "you have in your satchel—don't move, if you please—a roll of French notes—indeed you must not move—very cleverly abstracted from my pocket by my charming young companion, Mademoiselle Flossie here. Now I have at least half a dozen friends in the café below whom I could summon here by touching that bell, and the identification of those notes would be a perfectly simple matter. Shall I do it? Or will you earn another roll by giving me the information I seek?"
Madame leaned forward and whispered in the man's ear. Monsieur Louis nodded.
"Tell him," Mademoiselle Flossie murmured tremulously. "Monsieur will not break faith with us. He will not let it be known from whence he gained the knowledge."