“Excellent. I will do it thoroughly and have a foreign shirt, also a leather belt.”
He packed the things into the carpet-bag, paid madame and asked to be allowed to leave the bag there behind the counter.
“I will return later.”
“Certainly, monsieur.”
Brent had brought a pack with him, and he had other things to buy, details of the adventure that he had worked out while he was lying sick in bed and seeing pictures on the ceiling. The list included matches, a few candles, some tinned food, cigarettes, a pair of civilian boots, a woollen vest, soap, a sponge, a comb, and six inches of tri-colour ribbon. He had a meal at an obscure restaurant, and the meal included a bottle of red wine that cost him thirty francs. He drank to the health of the adventure.
A winter dusk was falling over Charleroi when Brent returned to the shop where he had left his bag. The wine had made him merry, and he wasted ten minutes in a gallant little gossip with the lady of the flowing chin. It would be unwise to appear to be in a hurry; your true artist is never furtive nor a sloven in his manners.
“Au revoir, madame.”
“Au revoir, monsieur l’apache.”
Brent laughed.
“I’ll try the costume to-night and see how the boys like it.”