It is worth
a little risk. Heavens, how nervous I am!"
She entered a cafe and drank _a petit verre_. As she set her glass down
a man looked at her over the top of his newspaper. She tried to smile,
but her heart was beating, and she was sick with fear.
"What a fool I am!" she muttered. "It is a stranger, too. If he were one
of Gustav's lot I should know him."
She returned his smile, and he came and sat down beside her. They had
another liqueur. Later they left the place together.
* * * * *
Duncombe returned to his hotel tired out after a disappointing day spent
in making fruitless inquiries in various parts of Paris. He had learnt
nothing. He seemed as far off the truth as ever. He opened the note
which the porter handed him listlessly enough. Afterwards, however, it
was different. This is what he read:--
"I can tell you about the young English lady if you will
promise upon your honor that you will not betray me. I dare
not come here again. I dare not even speak to you while the
others are about. Go to the Cafe Sylvain to-night and order
dinner in a private room.
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