“You never smuggle,” Alice Harrington said, smiling. “You haven’t the nerve, Monty, so you need not take it to heart.”
“But I do nevertheless,” he retorted.
“Monty,” she cried, “I believe you’re planning to smuggle something yourself! We’ll conspire together and defeat that abominable law.”
“If you must,” Denby said, still gravely, “don’t advertise the fact. Paris has many spies who reap the reward of overhearing just such confidences.”
“Spies!” She laughed. “How melodramatic, Mr. Denby.”
“But I mean it,” he insisted. “Not highly paid government agents, but perhaps such people as chambermaids in your hotel, or servants to whom you pay no attention whatsoever. How do you and I know for example that Monty isn’t high up in the secret service?”
“Me?” cried Monty. “Well, I certainly admire your brand of nerve, Steve!”
“That’s no answer,” his friend returned. “You say you have been two years here studying Continental banking systems. I’ll bet you didn’t even know that the Banque de France issued a ten thousand franc note!”
“Of course I did,” Monty cried, a little nettled.
Denby turned to Mrs. Harrington with an air of triumph.