The man in the fur coat accentuated the word "fear" significantly. He set his motor going and jumped into the car.
"Again, many thanks, Corporal! I do not offer to take you back to Verdun, as my car has only two seats! Till this evening, then!"
The car moved off, rapidly putting on speed.
"There goes the chief spy!" thought Fandor. "Never set eyes on the fellow before, nor heard his voice, either! Now, whom shall I meet to-night at this cursed rendezvous, and what is the business? Some traitorous deviltry, of course!"
It was striking seven when Fandor presented himself at the Noret printing works.
He rang: he was admitted, and shown into a waiting-room. There was a touch of the convent parlour about it. The man who had opened to him asked:
"What name shall I give to the gentlemen, Monsieur?"
"Tell them it is Corporal Vinson."
Fandor's heart was beating like a sledge hammer as the minutes dragged by: it was an eternity of waiting! A flock of suspicions crowded his mind: might he not have fallen into a trap?