“They are not very prepossessing looking persons at all events,” admitted Ethan. He went on sipping his coffee for a time and then leaning toward his companion he said in a low tone, “They are watching us.”
“No!” exclaimed Longsword, glaring at the trio.
“Don’t stare so at them. Yes; it’s true. The man in the cloak seems to be some one in authority; he pointed us out as soon as they came in; they have been furtively eyeing us ever since.”
“I wonder why?” said Longsword, puzzled.
“I couldn’t say. Perhaps because we are Americans. I’ve noticed that that causes the French people to stare always, as we pass along the street.”
The young American and his companion watched the three closely while pretending to inspect the room. The conversation of the men was carried on in a very low tone; their gestures were guarded; their whole manner was secret; and while they ate sparingly of the food placed before them they never took their eyes, so it seemed, from Ethan and Longsword. While deep in the observation of all this Ethan was surprised to hear a quiet voice say, almost in his ear:
“Our friends by the door seem like most peculiar people.”
Ethan turned quickly, for the voice had a strangely familiar sound; and to his great astonishment he found himself looking into the smiling face of Monsieur Fochard. Longsword was equally astonished; the language was French and so of course he did not understand what the man said; but he recognized the features of the secret agent instantly. The man saw this and smiled and nodded.
“I had not thought,” said he to Ethan, “to see you again so soon. I fancied, monsieur, that you would be at St. Mary’s Isle, awaiting the coming of Siki, the Lascar.”
Ethan fancied that he detected a chuckle in the man’s voice—a chuckle of intense satisfaction. But he made no reply and the agent went on: