When Hubert returned on board the Arabia and entered his deck-cabin, one of a long row of small cubicles, he started back in surprise, for Gigleux was there.
The Frenchman was confused at his sudden discovery, but only for a second. Then, with his calm, pleasant smile, he said in French:
“Ah, m’sieur, a thousand pardons! I was looking for the book I lent you the other day—that book of Maspero’s. I want to refer to it.”
Waldron felt at once that the excuse was a lame one.
“I left it in the fumoir last night, I believe.”
“Ah! Then I will go and get it,” replied the white-haired old fellow fussily. “But I hope,” he added, “that m’sieur will grant pardon for this unwarrantable intrusion. I did not go to the temple. It was a trifle too early for me.”
“You missed a great treat,” replied the Englishman bluntly, tossing his soft felt hat upon his narrow little bed. “Mademoiselle will tell you all about it.”
“You took her under your charge—as usual, eh?” sniffed the old fellow.
“Oh, yes. I escorted both her and Miss Lambert,” was the diplomat’s reply. “But look here, M’sieur Gigleux,” he went on, “you seem to have a distinct antipathy towards me. You seem to be averse to any courtesy I show towards your niece. Why is this? Tell me.”
The old man’s eyes opened widely, and he struck an attitude.