“Have you spoken to Pierrette?”
“Yes. But, curiously enough, she denied all knowledge of him.”
“Ah! Then it is as I suspected!” Blythe said. “We’ll have to be careful—confoundedly careful; otherwise we shall be given away.”
“By whom?”
“By our enemies,” was his ambiguous response. “Did Regnier tell you anything about the girl?”
“He warned me to have nothing whatever to do with her.”
“Exactly. Just as I thought. It was to his interests to do so. We must wire at once to Bindo.”
While we were talking, however, a thin, rather well-dressed, long-nosed Frenchman, in a brown suit and grey suede gloves, entered, and sat at a table near. He was not thirty, but about him was the unmistakable air of the bon viveur.
At his entry we broke off our conversation and spoke of other things. Neither of us desired the presence of a stranger in our vicinity.
Presently, after the lapse of ten minutes, we paid, rose, and left the café.