He glanced at her, his face, which still showed traces of great beauty, twisted unpleasantly, and then beckoned her to follow him through a door nearby into his office. And when they were seated, "What did you mean, Piquette?"
"What I said," put in Piquette, lighting a cigarette. "Him—or another." And then, as Gabriel's frown deepened, she shot straight at her mark. "There are two 'Arry 'Ortons, Gabriel Pochard," she said coolly.
The effect of her words on Gabriel was not lost on her. He looked around him furtively and caught her by the wrist.
"Who told you this?"
"It's true, then?" asked Piquette.
"Who told you?"
"My own eyes. The visitor at Javet's had no twisted little finger."
"And no one else has noticed?"
"Not so far as I am aware."
Gabriel Pochard gave a great gasp of relief.