Cécile took the thing, on which was scrawled:
“I. Antonides, art dealer, 1006 Old Compton Street.”
“Gentleman is outside, miss,” said the waiter, whose cast-iron face was struggling with a grin and conquering it.
“Show him in,” said Cécile, and I. Antonides entered.
Dressed in a shabby old fur-lined coat, from which half the buttons were gone, and holding a shabby old silk hat in one hand he stood for a moment in the doorway, blinking and then, catching sight of Freyberger, he beckoned.
Freyberger went to him and Antonides, catching him by the lapel, whispered, “A word in your ear, Mr Freyberger.”
“Well, what is it?” asked the detective, following the old man into the corridor.
“Am I dealing in this matter with you, or the young woman?”
“I suppose by the young woman you mean Mademoiselle Lefarge?”
“Yes.”