“I will let you know, by a note to your room, m’sieur.”
Hubert, fearing to meet His Excellency in the salle à manger, went out and dined at the Curassier, a noted restaurant in the Rue Nationale, and did not return before half-past ten.
In his room he found a scribbled line as arranged.
Then, descending by the lift, he sought the assistant concierge, and from him discovered that the pair were in consultation in room Number 164.
“Yes, I believe there is a door between that and the next room, m’sieur,” the man replied.
“Good. Then get me the key for an hour or so, and I will make it all right with you.”
The profession of concierge is synonymous of bribery. No concierge in Europe lives upon his stipend. Hence within ten minutes Hubert was crouched against the door of the adjoining room, listening to the conversation of the Italian Minister of War and the stranger from Berlin—a conversation which certainly proved highly instructive.