“I didn’t know what to say. I suggested that my friend should come along and get your opinion.”
“My opinion as an expert? My fees as an expert are heavy. I charge thirty francs a consultation!”
“I’m sure he’d have paid that,” Lowndes laughed innocently. Kreisler surveyed him unsympathetically.
“What, then, is your opinion of our excellent females?” he asked.
“Oh, I have no opinion. I admire your ladies, especially the pure Prussians.”
Kreisler was thinking: “If I borrow the money, there must be some time mentioned for paying back—next week, say. He would be more likely to lend it if he knew where to find me. He must have my address.”
“Come and see me—some time,” he blinked. “52 Boulevard Pfeiffer, fourth floor, just beside the restaurant here. You see? Up there.”
“I will. I looked you up at your old address a month or so ago; they didn’t know where you’d gone.”
Kreisler stared fixedly at him—a way of covering discomfiture felt at this news. The old address reminded him of several little debts there. For this reason he had not told them where he was going. The concierge would complain of her old tenant; probably, even, Lowndes might have been shown derelict tradesmen’s bills. Not much encouragement for his proposed victim!
Lowndes was writing on a piece of paper.