“I found the hotel, which has a sort of Moorish lounge, and got a seat where I could see everybody, the door among other things. It was twenty minutes to twelve, five minutes to the time. I asked for nobody, I did not even ask for a drink, as I did not want my voice to proclaim me an Englishman and a stranger. I knew my ‘cousin’ would be on time, for time with us is sacred.”
He leant forward in his old way, and began rubbing his chin on his stick. It meant he was going to hold forth.
“Time, exact time, is sacred. On Tuesday morning, at twelve o’clock by the nearest public time, Agent 1 will push his barrow round a certain corner. At the same time Agent 2, who is cycling round the same corner at the same moment but from an opposite direction, collides with Agent 1, and in the fracas which ensues they are hemmed in by the crowd. Agent 3, who has been detailed to do a little business on the other side of the road at two minutes past twelve, is agreeably surprised to find everybody occupied on the opposite pavement and nobody watching him. At four minutes past twelve a motor car numbered with a certain number slows up at a certain bit of kerb, and Agent 3, who has transacted his little business, gets in. But if Agent 1 is late, Agent 2 has no man to collide with, no crowd is drawn to look on, Agent 3 finds it impossible to transact his bit of business, and Agent 4 slows his car up in vain. Somebody is going to get into trouble.
“The few people in the lounge seemed the tag ends of Horse Show week. There were three or four women and half a dozen men, and they sat over cocktails and coffee. Nobody was interested in me.
“At one minute to the hour I sat back and put up the sign, and a minute later a man stalked through the door from the street. He took in the room in a single aimless glance, and, still walking forward, answered my sign. He smiled, I rose, and we met as if we were friends expecting each other. We made the third sign, the one that is made with the foot, and he asked the passwords and I answered. This was while we were sitting down. He asked me to have a drink; but I wasn’t having any.
“‘Then come out,’ he said, ‘for a walk about.’ He made a motion of his finger in the air like a man walking about. He spoke very quietly, and asked questions with his eyebrows.
“We left the lounge and went down the hotel steps.
“My ‘cousin’ was between thirty and thirty-five. He was tall and very lean. His chest was narrow, and sometimes he looked delicate, and at other times as tough as whipcord. His face was as keen as a wild animal’s. His black hair grew backwards. He was inclined to walk on his toes, and he trod like a cat. You never heard him coming and going.
“He brought me here, and we walked and talked.” 47 jerked his thumb to the left. “Up that end is a waterfall which feeds the lakes, and all the time we seemed to be getting to that or leaving it. We watched the children if we were disturbed, or talked about the birds, and my ‘cousin’—I can’t give you his name or number—was mad on them, and had a cupboard at home full of pot plants.”
“Did he tell you how things are going?” I broke in.