“I say, Maurice”—he began, but then remembering that the garçon had a thorough command of English, he checked his impetuous tongue, and sat down beside his brother, who had already started upon his breakfast.
“Send him to fetch something,” he said in a low tone.
“Bring me an omelette aux fines herbes,” said Maurice to the waiter.
“Certainly, sir, in five minutes.”
“What is it?” asked Maurice, when the man had gone.
“Those fellows are on our track,” said George breathlessly. “The whole gang by the look of it. I have just seen a large green motor, a taxi, and a fiacre go down the street. The Count and his secretary were in the first.”
“They went by?” said Maurice in amazement.
“Yes.”
“Then they don’t know our whereabouts, yet,” said Maurice, heaving a sigh of relief. “But it won’t be long before they do. The place is full of German spies, and if this so-called Russian is a German, as I suspect, he’ll soon learn from one of his agents about the appearance of an odd-looking thing like the gyro-car. Indeed, I shouldn’t be surprised if those fellows I saw get into a taxi just this side of the Porte Maillot were his men.”
“But how did they get here in the time?”