"What does he do in Paris?" Julien inquired.
Estermen shook his head.
"He arrived this morning and disappeared. Tonight he sent me orders that I was to search for you."
"Where is he now?" Julien asked.
"At eight o'clock tonight," Estermen said, "he declared himself to be Herr Carl Freudenberg, dealer in German toys. He dressed, dined at the Ambassadeurs with Mademoiselle Ixe from the Opera, sent for me, learned that I was at the Maison Léon d'Or, telephoned there, and all for this one thing—that I should bring you to him without a moment's delay."
"But where is he now?" Julien asked again.
Estermen glanced at the clock and at a piece of paper which he took from his pocket.
"It is one o'clock within a few minutes," he remarked. "Herr
Freudenberg is either at the Abbaye Thelème or the Rat Mort."
Julien scarcely hesitated.
"When you first came in," he admitted, "I felt like throwing you out. How you got here I don't know. I suppose it is no use complaining to the hotel people. But there is no man on the face of this earth in whom I am more interested than Falkenberg. I shall change my clothes, and in a quarter of an hour I am at your service. Wait for me downstairs."