He nodded and walked by my side.
"Our friend," he said, "is admirably disguised, but I recognized him. It is Monsieur Bardow, the cleverest man in France."
The two men exchanged bows and smiles. A waiter was standing near.
"I insist, Monsieur," Monsieur Bardow said, "that you and your nephew here join me in a bottle of wine. We will drink luck to your new venture. No! you must seat yourself, you and your nephew also!"
The farce was well kept up till the wine had been fetched and the waiter dismissed. Then Monsieur Bardow, with the mild expression of one who is still exchanging compliments, began to talk.
"Mr. Guest," he said, "I know you, and I think that you know me. We are both up against a hard thing—officials, who won't believe what does sound a little, perhaps, like a fairy story. I have succeeded a little, you not at all. I consider that a disaster to England, however, would be a disaster also to my country. I am here, therefore, to see if I can be of service to you."
Adèle leaned over towards us.
"Monsieur Bardow," she said, "has already been to his ambassador here!"
"And Monsieur Lestrange, who is good enough to have complete confidence in me, went at once to Downing Street," Monsieur Bardow explained. "When he returned he was angry!"
Guest tapped on the table with his forefinger.