He saw a sudden expression of blank amazement. Then his sharp, dark eyes narrowed, and surprise gave way to a distinct expression of evil.
Whatever the Princess’s missive contained, it certainly caused him both annoyance and alarm. The man’s astute cleverness, however, was shown by the manner in which he made pretence of disregarding it and treating it with nonchalance.
He smiled as he looked again into the face of his companion, though it was but a strange, sickly smile, like that seen upon a criminal’s face on listening to his sentence. And without a word he signalled to a waiter and called for a cognac.
Waldron refused his invitation to drink, but watched him as he tossed off the petit verre at a single gulp.
“I regret if the news I have brought is unwelcome,” Waldron remarked, as he drew slowly at his cigarette and watched the smoke curling upwards. “But m’sieur must forgive me.”
“Oh, no,” he laughed, “the news is not unwelcome in the least. At first I regarded it as such, but on mature reflection I see it is not,” he declared, quite unperturbed.
But Waldron knew from the man’s manner that he was lying. He felt that Henri Pujalet was not the charming, educated man which he had believed him to be on the Nile.
“I hope Mademoiselle has not been—well, indiscreet,” the Englishman remarked with a smile. “Ladies so often are.”
“Ah, yes. Well—she has, truth to tell, been just a little indiscreet. But it is nothing,” he declared, “really nothing whatever.”
“Is there any reply I can convey to her?” asked Waldron. “I am leaving for Paris at four o’clock.”