“A fine night,” said Herman, and cast an eye at the sky.
“Fine enough.”
“Too good to waste in sleep. I was thinking,” observed Herman, “of an hour or two at the Hungaria.”
The Hungaria! Something in Peter’s pleasure-hungry heart leaped, but he mocked his fellow-clerk.
“Since when,” he inquired, “have you frequented the Hungaria?
“I feel in the mood,” was the somewhat sullen reply. “I work hard enough, God knows, to have a little pleasure now and then.” Danger was making him shrewd. He turned away from Peter Niburg, then faced him again. “If you care to come,” he suggested. “Not a supper, you understand; but a glass of wine, Italian champagne,” he added.
Peter Niburg was fond of sweet champagne.
Peter Niburg pushed his hat to the back of his head, and hung his stick over his forearm. After all, why not? Marie was gone. Let the past die. If Herman could make the first move, let him, Peter, make the second. He linked arms with his old enemy.
“A fine night,” he said.