“The elevated is only three blocks away.” She took up a brisk stride. “We’ll take it. I hate taxis. Drivers never know where you want to go. Outside the Loop, they’re lost like babes in the wood.”
A taxi might indeed have lost both Florence and the polite little Frenchman. Under Florence’s plan only the Frenchman was lost. And this, to her, was just as bad, for she did want Petite Jeanne to meet this man and receive the message from him, even though the message was not to be delivered in the form of bank notes.
It was the little man’s extreme politeness that proved his undoing. In the Loop they were obliged to change trains. Florence had waited for the right train, and then had invited him to go before her, when, with a lift of his hat, he said, bowing:
“After you, my dear Mademoiselle!”
This was all well enough. But there were other Madams and Mademoiselles boarding that train.
Again and yet again the little man bowed low. When at last the gates banged and the train rattled on its way, Florence found to her consternation that she was alone.
“We left him there bowing!” There was a certain humor in the situation. But she was disappointed and alarmed.
Speeding across the bridge at the next station, she boarded a second train and went rattling back. Arrived at her former station, she found no trace of the man.
“He took another train. It’s no use.” Her shoulders drooped. “All that and nothing for it.”
Her dejection lasted but for a moment.