“Who is likely to try anything of that sort?” he asked. And a tingling sensation, not wholly unpleasant, passed over him.
“Almost anyone here, if you are recognised,” she said, as gaily as though she were imparting delightful information.
“But you recognise us. And I’m certainly not dead yet.”
“Which ought to tell you more about me than I am likely to tell anybody. Now, when I smile at you and shake my head, make your adieux to me, find Captain Sengoun, and take your departure. Do you understand?”
“Are you really serious?”
“It is you who should be serious. Now, I give you your signal, Monsieur Neeland––”
But the smile stiffened on her pretty face, and at 364 the same moment he was aware that somebody had entered the room and was standing directly behind him.
He turned on his chair and looked up into the face of Ilse Dumont.
There was a second’s hesitation, then he was on his feet, greeting her cordially, apparently entirely at ease and with nothing on his mind except the agreeable surprise of the encounter.
“I had your note,” he said. “It was charming of you to write, but very neglectful of you not to include your address. Tell me, how have you been since I last saw you?”