“And generally every one else,” I said. “Perhaps you, too, are observed.”
“Possibly. Monsieur may perceive that it is better I continue in the pay of the police. It is hardly more than a pourboire, but it is desirable. I have an old mother at Neuilly.”
I had my doubts in regard to the existence of the mother—but it was true, as I learned later.
“It seems to me,” I said, “that you will have to report your observations.”
“Yes; I cannot avoid that. Monsieur may feel assured that I shall communicate very important information to my lesser master,”—he grinned,—“in fact, whatever monsieur pleases. If I follow and report at times to the police where monsieur visits, I may be trusted to be at need entirely untrustworthy and prudent. I do not smoke. Monsieur’s cigars are safe. If monsieur has absinthe about, I might—monsieur permits me to be suggestive.”
The man’s gaiety, his intelligence, and his audacious frankness took my fancy. I said: “There is nothing in my life, my man, which is not free for all to know. I shall soon learn whether or not I may trust you. If you are faithful you shall be rewarded. That is all.” As I spoke his pleasant face became grave.
“Monsieur shall not be disappointed.” Nor was he. Alphonse proved to be a devoted servant, a man with those respectful familiarities which are rare except in French and Italian domestics. When once I asked him how far his superiors had profited by his account of me, he put on a queer, wry face and said circumstances had obliged him to become inventive. He had been highly commended. It seemed as well to inquire no further.