"You have brought it?" she said, without a preliminary word.
She had thrown a dark cloak over her evening dress, and the man's eyes feasted on her.
"Yes, I have brought it—Jean," he said.
She put her finger to her lips.
"Be careful, François," she cautioned in a low voice.
Although the man spoke English as well as he spoke French, it was in the latter language that the conversation was carried on. He went to a grip which lay on the bed, opened it and took out five thick packages of thousand-franc notes.
"There are a thousand in each, mademoiselle. Five million francs. I changed part of the money in Paris, and part in London."
"The woman—there is no danger from her?"
"Oh no, mademoiselle," he smiled complacently. "She is not likely to betray me, and she does not know my name or where I am living. She is a girl I met at a dance at the Swiss Waiters' Club," he explained. "She is not a good character. I think the French police wish to find her, but she is very clever."
"What did you tell her?" asked Jean.