“What you are—now—I do not know,” said Jimmy contemptuously. “I have known you as all things—as an ornament of the young Egypt party, as a tout for Reale, as a trader in beastliness.”
The conversation was in colloquial French, and Jimmy used a phrase which is calculated to raise the hair of the most brazen scoundrel. But this man shrugged his shoulders and rose to go. Jimmy caught his sleeve and detained him.
“Callvet,” he said, “go back to Mr. Spedding, your employer, and tell him the job is too dangerous. Tell him that one of the men, at least, knows enough about you to send you to New Caledonia, or else——”
“Or else?” demanded the man defiantly.
“Or else,” said Jimmy in his hesitating way, “I’ll be sending word to the French Ambassador that ‘Monsieur Plessey’ is in London.”
The face of the man turned a sickly green.
“Monsieur—je n’en vois pas la nécessité,” he muttered.
“And who is Plessey?” asked Angel when the man had gone.
“A murderer greatly wanted by the French police,” said Jimmy, “and Spedding has well chosen his instrument. Angel, there will be trouble before the evening is over.”
They ate their dinner in silence, lingering over the coffee. The Frenchman had taken a table at the other side of the room. Once when Angel went out he made as though to leave, but seeing that Jimmy did not move, he changed his mind.