Stenhouse whistled. They were in the Rue du Mont Thabor by this, in front of a small café.
“Well,” said Adams, “what’s wrong?”
“Everything,” replied the other. “This is the house where my patient lives. Wait for me, for a moment, like a good fellow. I shan’t detain you long, and then we can finish our talk, for I have something to tell you.”
He darted into the café and Adams waited, watching the passers-by and somewhat perturbed in mind. Stenhouse’s manner impressed him uncomfortably, for, if Captain Berselius had been the devil, the Englishman could not have put more disfavour into his tone. And he (Adams) had made a compact with Captain Berselius.
The Rue du Mont Thabor is a somewhat gloomy little street, and it fitted Adams’s mood as he waited, watching the passers-by and the small affairs of the little shops.
At the end of five minutes Stenhouse returned.
“Well?” said Adams.
“I have had no luncheon yet,” replied Stenhouse. “I have been so rushed. Come with me to a little place I know in the Rue St. Honoré, where I can get a cup of tea and a bun. We will talk then.”
“Now,” said Stenhouse, when he was seated at a little marble-topped table with the cup of tea and the bun before him. “You say you have engaged yourself to go to the Congo with Captain Berselius.”
“Yes. What do you know about him?”