"Good night and good morning!"
"A hundred!"
"Now you've got me interested. What kind of a joy ride do you want?"
"No joy ride. Listen."
Briefly the conspirator outlined his needs, and finally the chauffeur nodded. Five twenties were pressed into his hand and he curled up in his seat again.
Servan entered his box. In the box next to his sat a handsomely gowned young woman. He threw her an idle glance, which was repaid in kind. Later, Braine came in and sat down beside Olga.
"Everything looks like plain sailing," he whispered.
Olga shrugged slightly.
During the intermission between the first and second acts, Servan took the rear chair of his box, near the curtains. Braine, watching with the eyes of a lynx, suddenly observed the curtains stirring. A hand was thrust through. In that hand was a packet of papers. With seeming indifference Servan reached back and took the papers, stowing them away in a pocket.
Braine rose at the beginning of the second act.