“What is it?” queried Longsword, astonished at his young master’s manner.
“We are in the wrong house. And we have stumbled upon a clue to the missing dispatch.”
The door leading into the next room was now thrown open, and a stout, florid man in a velvet coat and with a great bunch of seals hanging from a heavy gold watch chain, stepped into the room.
“Gentlemen,” said he, advancing and holding out both hands, “I am most delighted to meet you.”
When he had shaken hands with them he continued, addressing Longsword,
“You are Monsieur Danvers, I take it.”
“He does not speak French,” Ethan informed the man.
Fochard expressed his surprise with a shrug.
“Not speak French! That is odd. How then did his government come to choose him for this work in France?”
“You forget, monsieur,” said Ethan coolly, “that his coming to France was by accident. The dispatch got this far because our plans miscarried. Danvers’ working ground is the United States, and a knowledge of the French language is not necessary there.”