The telephone bell rang.
Fandor hesitated a moment. Should he answer it?
According to custom, the journalist "had left" the evening before: he could plead his leave, which was in order, and say, like Louis XIV, "After me the deluge!"
This famous saying would have suited the moment, for it was at that instant precisely that an inky cloud burst over Paris and emptied torrents of water over the darkened city.
Perhaps a friend had rung him up—or it was a mistake! So arguing, Fandor unhooked the receiver.
Having listened a moment, he instinctively adopted a more respectful attitude, as if his interlocutor at the other end of the line could see him.
Fandor replied in quick monosyllables, closing the conversation with these words:
"Agreed. Presently, then chief."
As the journalist hung up the receiver his expression changed: he frowned, and pulling at his moustache with a nervous hand, fretting and fuming.
"Hang it! It only wanted this," he grumbled.