“An appointment!” cried Marescal almost in a squeak.
“Yes. You haven’t forgotten it? At your place—not your house—your bachelor’s flat—Rue Duplan—a little flat looking on the street. Isn’t it there that you meet every afternoon and stuff with meringues dipped in Alicante, the wife of your——”
“Be quiet!” said Marescal in a strangled whisper.
He was as white as a sheet. All his self-confidence [[245]]had vanished. He looked as if he would never joke again.
“Why do you want me to keep silent?” asked Ralph innocently. “Is the invitation off? Aren’t you going to introduce me to——”
“Silence, damn you!” hissed Marescal.
He went back on to the landing, shut the door behind him, and took Philippe aside.
“Just a few minutes, Philippe. There are some details to straighten out before we make an end of it. Take your men downstairs so that they mayn’t hear anything.”
He came back into the room, rather shakily, went to Ralph and with his face almost touching Ralph’s face, said in a voice too low for Bregeac and Aurelie to hear it: “What do you mean? What are you getting at?”
“Nothing at all.”