As for curiosity concerning his immediate destination, there was little enough of that in his temper; a single glance round on leaving the car would fix his whereabouts beyond dispute, so thorough was his knowledge of Paris.
He contemplated briefly, with admiration, the simplicity with which that affair at L'Abbaye had been managed, finding no just cause to suspect anyone there of criminal complicity in the plans of the Pack: a forged order for a table to the maitre-d'hotel, ten francs to the carriage-porter and twenty more to the dancing woman to play parts in a putative practical joke—and the thing had been arranged without implicating a soul!…
Of a sudden, ending a ride much shorter than Lanyard would have liked, the limousine swung in toward a curb.
Bending forward, he unlatched the door and, glancing through the window, uttered a grunt of profound disgust.
If this were the best that Pack could do…!
He had hoped for something a trifle more original from men with wit and imagination enough to plot the earlier phases of this intrigue.
The car had pulled up in front of an institution which he knew well—far too well, indeed, for his own good.
None the less, he consented to get out.
"Sure you've come to the right place?" he asked the chauffeur.
Two fingers touching the visor of his cap: "But certainly, monsieur!"