“I want to see Monsieur Le Bain—at once,” he said in that manner which head waiters instinctively obey.
The head waiter vanished. The next moment Monsieur Le Bain was approaching.
“Joe,” Clifford began shortly, “this joint is being watched, and I’ve got my eyes on it, too.”
“Honest to God, I ain’t pullin’ nothin’ crooked here,” responded Monsieur Le Bain, lapsing from his French accent into the one more natural to him.
“You’d better not try to,” Clifford warned grimly, looking coldly and squarely into his dark eyes. Seeing that he had made his impression, Clifford inquired: “Mr. Loveman come yet?”
“No.”
“But he has a table reserved for two?”
“Yes.”
“Joe, you give me a table for one, close to it, so I can see Loveman, without being seen.”
“I can fix you up with a cabinet particulier,” the other said cringingly, “if it’s privacy you want.”