"Blague, my friend, sheer blague. You know you relish a good dinner of your own ordering far more than anybody's appreciation, even mine."
The waiters had retired, leaving them alone in a momentary oasis of public isolation.
"Mademoiselle," said Lanyard in more formal vein, "I am sure, underestimates my capacity for appreciation. May one venture to compliment mademoiselle, who is marvellous in so many bewitching ways?"
"Why not, monsieur? Was ever music sweeter?" The girl laughed; then her eyes sobered while her features retained their appearance of complete amusement. "Monsieur received a telegram this afternoon?"
"Yes, mademoiselle. And you?"
"It is here--since I am. May I see yours?"
With a gay gesture she handed over her telegram from London and took his in exchange.
The ordinary cipher of the B. S. S. was as readily intelligible to both as if the messages had been couched in open French or English.
Lanyard read:
"Kindly place yourself beginning with dinner to-night and for duration his stay in Paris at the commands of Paul Martin, Hôtel Chatham, lunatic but harmless and of great value to us. He seems to be at present concerned with some affair outside our knowledge, but presumably desperate, else he would not be interested. Please exert best endeavours to get him out of France alive as soon as possible."