We hurried as much as possible, hoping to make the rooms before Ben could get there, but, sure enough, when we turned into the Captain’s street, Ben lumbered up beside us and demanded to know what the big idea was.
“For God’s sake!” exclaimed Clark. “We’re coming right back! What did you think—that we’re trying to give you the slip?... Don’t be foolish—I just happened to remember some papers I left layin’ around my room and we’re going back to get them.... Why don’t you go back and get those drinks ready? We’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
But Ben said he’d wait for us to come with him, so we plodded back to the rooms and Ben and I waited downstairs while he made a show of getting those papers he had mentioned.
We then went back to the café and Ben made a garçon of himself running back and forth between our table and the bar. Between times, Clark and I tried to talk over the possible escapes.
“The big ape!” muttered my man, behind Ben’s back. “He’s bound to stick with us.... You can’t wear that rig now, that’s certain. And it’s getting later all the time. We’ve got to ride to Corbeil.... Damn that man anyway!”
“The General says we may not be in Paris again for six weeks or more,” I said, just to make us both feel worse.
“O God!” exclaimed Clark. “Isn’t there any way we can fool that cussed Ben?”
Ben came back just then so I didn’t have to answer, but by the time he left us again I had an inspiration, and promptly told Clark of it. “It sounds crazy, of course, but Ben expects crazy things of us.... Why don’t you go back to the rooms, rig yourself up in skirts, powder up, and come along?”
“My God, Leona—are you joking?”
“No—really—we can tell Ben you want to play a joke on one of your friends later in the evening.”