“Next time,” said Puma, “you shall say to them that there was a very bad riot.”
“Sir?”
“A big fight,” continued Puma. “And if there is only a little damage you shall make more. And you shall show it to the police.”
“I get you, Governor. I’ll stage it right; don’t worry.”
“Yes, you shall stage it like there never was in all of France any ruins like my hall! And afterward,” he said, half to himself, “we shall see what we shall see.”
He went back to his office, took a packet of hundred dollar bills from the safe, and walked slowly out to where the limousine awaited him.
“Say, what the hell––” began Skidder impatiently; but Puma leaped lightly to his seat and pulled the fur robe over his knees.
“Now,” he said, in excellent humour, “we pick up Mr. Pawling at the Astor.”
“Where are the ladies?”