“It will come directly!” he exclaimed. “But who are you?”
Peter Ruff waited for the brandy. When he had sipped it, he drew a little breath as though of relief.
“I heard,” he said, speaking still with an evident effort, “that Lemaitre was here. I had secret information. I thought at first that I would let you know—I sent you a note early this morning. Afterwards, I discovered that there was a reward, and I determined to track him down myself. He was in here hiding as a sick waiter. I do not think,” Peter Ruff added, “that Monsieur Antoine had any idea. I presented myself as representing a charitable society, and I was shown here to visit him. He was too clever, though, was Jean Lemaitre—too quick for me.”
“You were a fool to come alone!” John Dory said. “Don’t you know the man’s record? How long ago did he leave?”
“About ten minutes,” Peter Ruff answered. “You must have missed him somewhere as you came up. I crawled to the window and I watched him go. He left the restaurant by the side entrance, and took a taxicab at the corner there. It went northward toward New Oxford Street.”
Dory turned on his heel—they heard him descending the stairs. Peter Ruff rose to his feet.
“I am afraid,” he said, as he plunged his head into a basin of water, and came into the middle of the room rubbing it vigorously with a small towel, “I am afraid that our friend John Dory will get to dislike me soon! He passed out unnoticed, eh, Antoine?”
Antoine’s face wore a look of great relief.
“There was not a soul who looked,” he said. “We passed under the nose of the gentleman from Scotland Yard. He sat there reading his paper; and he had no idea. I watched Jean step into the motor. Even by now he is well on his way southwards. Twice he changes from motor to train, and back. They will never trace him.”
Peter Ruff, who was looking amazingly better, sipped a further glass of liqueur. Together he and Antoine descended to the street.