“Then how was it he did not recognise you to-night?”
“I was then but an acquaintance of Madame; not her intimate friend, counsellor, champion, as I am now. I did not have the honour of being presented to Captain Vauvenarde. I went to-night to make sure of my man, to play the first card in my gigantic combination—but, alas! But no!” He rose and thumped his little chest. “I feel my courage coming back. My will is stiffening into iron. When the carissima signora arrives in Algiers she will find she has a champion!”
“How do you know she is coming to Algiers?” I asked startled.
“As soon as I learned that Captain Vauvenarde was here,” he replied proudly, “I sent her a telegram. 'Husband found; come at once.' I know she is coming, for she has not answered.”
An idea occurred to me. “Did you sign your name and address on the telegram?”
He approached me confidentially as I sat, and wagged a cunning finger.
“In matters of life and death, never give your name and address.”
As Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos was himself again, and as I began to sneeze—for the night was chilly—I rose and suggested that we might adjourn this conference till the morrow. He acquiesced, saying that all was not lost and that he still had time to mature his combinations. We crossed the road, and I hailed a cab standing by the Cafe d'Alger. I offered Anastasius to drive him to his hotel, but he declined politely. We shook hands.
“Monsieur,” said he, “I have to make my heartfelt apologies for having caused you so painful, so useless, and so expensive an evening. As for the last aspect I will repay you.”
“You will do no such thing, Professor,” said I. “My evening has, on the contrary, been particularly useful and instructive. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.”