Blanquart understood perfectly, not only the words, but the feeling. “Ah, Monsieur, there you have the peasant. I have lived among them all my life. I am not of them, I am from St. Omer, but I know them well. They are like that. They are thrashing. They are sowing. They cannot attend to anything else, even if it be their own business. You and I shall be treated like the weather, something to be used or avoided....”
But the A.P.M. had stepped out of the Estaminet de la Mairie. Dormer lingered, just sufficiently to say:
“We are much obliged, M. Blanquart, we will attend to the affair.” For he had been brought up to behave as a little gentleman and knew that politeness cost nothing and that he might require the Secretary of the Mairie again.
Outside, the chauffeur was busy underneath the car, the policeman stood beside it, legs apart, hands clasped behind his back, face expressing absolutely nothing. In a few strides Dormer caught up to the A.P.M.
“This lady speaks good English, sir. No doubt you will conduct the inquiry yourself?”
“I hope so, if we really have found the person at last. We’ve wasted nearly the whole morning.”
Dormer was relieved; his mind, always inclined to run a little in advance, had already arrived at the point at which some one would have to ask this woman:
“Are you the victim of this shocking crime?” He didn’t want to do it, for he felt that it was the A.P.M.’s business.
The two officers entered the Café-Restaurant of the “Lion of Flanders.” The whole of the ground floor, a long, low room looking out into the Grand’ Place, had been cleared and set with little tables. Round the desk from which the Patronne supervised the business, one or two officers from neighbouring billets were drinking mixed vermouth. The air was redolent of preparation, and it was only because they remained standing that the A.P.M. and Dormer attracted attention. Finally, a rough middle-aged woman in an apron asked what she could do for these gentlemen. Feeling the subject to be increasingly delicate, Dormer ordered two mixed vermouths and then asked if they might speak to Mademoiselle Vanderlynden upon business. The drinks were served, and behind them came the person required. No sooner had she come and inquired what was wanted, than Dormer wished to goodness she had not. He realized more than ever how difficult it would be to say to such a person, “Are you the victim of the unmentionable crime?” But there she stood, quite good looking, imperturbable, a little impatient perhaps, obviously wanting to know without delay why she had been sent for in the middle of a busy morning. This was comforting in a sense; it showed there was something wrong with the whole atrocious story. On the other hand it was awkward, one had to go on and explain. So he pulled out the blue printed claim: the A.P.M. in spite of what had been said, left it to him.
“It is about this claim of your father’s.”