"What of the Lone Wolf?" the Comtesse de Lorgnes added. "I have heard that one is once more in France."
Duchemin blinked incredulously at the speaker. "But when did you hear that, madame la comtesse?"
"Quite recently, monsieur."
"I had understood that the monsieur in question had long since retired."
"Only for the duration of the war, monsieur, I am afraid."
"It is true, according to all reports," the Comte de Lorgnes said: "Monsieur Lanyard--that was the name, was it not?"
"If memory serves, monsieur le comte," Duchemin agreed.
"Yes." The count screwed his chubby features into a laughable mask of gravity. "Now one remembers quite well. He passed as a collector of objets d'art, especially of fine paintings, in Paris, for years before the War--this Monsieur Michael Lanyard. Then he disappeared. It was rumoured that he was of good service to the Allies as a spy, acting independently; and after the Armistice, I have heard, he did well for England in the matter of a Bolshevist conspiracy over there. But not long ago, according to my information, Monsieur the Lone Wolf resigned from the British Secret Service and returned to France--doubtless to resume his old practices."
"Perhaps not," Duchemin suggested. "Possibly his reformation was genuine and lasting."
The Comtesse de Lorgnes laughed that laugh of light derision which is almost exclusively the laugh of the Parisienne of a certain class. Remarking this, Duchemin eyed her mildly.