“Catalan. This is Catalonia, you know, and both the race and the language are different from the rest of Spain. They are more go-ahead and enterprising than the people farther south.”
“That sounds a bit like Ireland,” French remarked. “I’ve been both in Belfast and in the south, and the same things seems to hold good. Though Dublin is a fine city, and no mistake.”
They continued discussing peoples and languages and the northerly concentration of energy to be found in most countries, until the hands of the clock pointed to noon and lunch time. Then French caught what he had been angling for. The stranger asked him to share his table.
The Inspector continued to make himself agreeable, and after they had finished invited the other to have coffee and a cigar with him in a deserted corner of the lounge. Then thinking his companion was by this time off his guard, he introduced a new subject after a lull in the conversation.
“It’s strange the different businesses people are engaged on,” he remarked ruminatively, as he poured himself out a second cup of coffee. “Now, I wouldn’t mind betting a ten-pound note you wouldn’t guess what I am, and what my business here is.”
The other laughed.
“I confess I was wondering,” he admitted. “I am afraid I should lose my money. I won’t guess.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, though our business is not a thing we speak of as a rule. I am a detective inspector from Scotland Yard.”
As he spoke French watched the other’s face. If this were the man of whom he was in search, he could swear he would make him exhibit some emotion.
But so far he did not succeed. His new acquaintance merely laughed again.