"Yes, in the boudoir."
The bow ended the interview and Fandor was once more left alone. But not for long. Close upon the heels of the first, a second man entered and handed the journalist a telegram and withdrew.
"Ah, now I shall get some explanation of all this mystery! This should come from the King.... Has he got my name?... No!... the Duke of Haworth ... evidently the name of the individual I am supposed to represent."
Fandor tore open the telegram and then stared in surprise. Not one word of it could he make out. It was in cipher!
"Why the deuce was this given to me!... what does the whole thing mean? Is it possible they take me for...."
CHAPTER V
BY THE SINGING FOUNTAINS
Paris rises very late indeed on New Year's Day. The night before is given up to family reunions, supper parties and every kind of jollification. So the year begins with a much needed rest. The glitter and racket of the streets gives place to a death-like stillness. Shops are shut and the cafés are empty. Paris sleeps. There is an exception to this rule: Certain unfortunate individuals are obliged to rise at day-break, don their best clothes, their uniforms and make their way to the four corners of the town to pay ceremonial calls.