“Do you hear me?” Lanyard continued in the same level and unyielding tone. “Bring both hands in sight—upon the table!”
There was no more hesitation: Ekstrom obeyed, if with the sullen grace of a wild beast that would and could slay its trainer with one sweep of its paw—if only it dared.
For the first time since leaving the girl Lanyard relaxed his vigilant watch over the man long enough for one swift glance through the window at his side. But she was already vanished from the café.
He breathed more freely now.
“Come!” he said peremptorily. “Get up. We’ve got to talk, I presume—thrash this matter out—and we’ll come to no decision here.”
“Where do we go, then?” the German demanded suspiciously.
“We can walk.”
Irresolutely the spy uncrossed his knees, but didn’t rise.
“Walk?” he repeated, “walk where?”
“Up the boulevard, if you like—where the lights are brightest.”
“Ah!”—with a malignant flash of teeth—“but I don’t trust you.”
Lanyard laughed: “You wear only one shoe of that pair, my dear captain! We’re a distrustful flock, we birds of prey. Come along! Why sit there sulking, like a spoiled child? You’ve made an ass of yourself, following me to Paris; sadly though you bungled that job in London, I gave you credit for more wit than to poke your head into the lion’s mouth here. But—admitting that—why not be graceful about it? Here am I, amiably treating you like an equal: you might at least show gratitude enough to accept my invitation to flaner yourself!”
With a grunt the spy got upon his feet, while Lanyard stood back, against the window, and made him free of the narrow path between the tree-tubs and the tables.
“After you, my dear Adolph … !”
The German paused, half turned towards him, choking with rage, his suffused face darkly relieving its white scars won at Heidelberg. At this, with a nod of unmistakable meaning, Lanyard advanced the muzzle of his pocketed weapon; and with an ugly growl the German moved on and out to the sidewalk, Lanyard respectfully an inch or two behind his elbow.
“To your right,” he requested pleasantly—“if it’s all the same to you: I’ve business on the Boulevards …”
Ekstrom said nothing for the moment, but sullenly yielded to the suggestion.
“By the way,” the adventurer presently pursued, “you might be good enough to inform me how you knew where we were dining—eh?”
“If it interests you—”
“I own it does—tremendously!”
“Pure accident: I happened to be sitting in the café, and caught a glimpse of you through the door as you went upstairs. Therefore I waited till the waiter asked for your bill at the caisse, then stationed myself outside.”
“But why? Can you tell me what you thought to accomplish?”
“You know well,” Ekstrom muttered. “After what happened in London … it’s your life or mine!”
“Spoken like a true villain! But it seems to me you overlooked a conspicuous chance to accomplish your hellish design, back there in the side streets.”
“Would I be such a fool as to shoot you down before finding out what you’ve done with those plans?”
“You might as well have,” Lanyard informed him lightly … “For you won’t know otherwise.”
With an infuriated oath the German stopped short: but he dared not ignore the readiness with which his tormentor imitated the manoeuvre and kept the pistol trained through the fabric of his raincoat.
“Yes—?” the adventurer enquired with an exasperating accent of surprise.
“Understand me,” Ekstrom muttered vindictively: “next time I’ll show you no mercy—”
“But if there is no next time? We’re not apt to meet again, you know.”
“That’s something beyond your knowledge—”
“You think so? … But shan’t we resume our stroll? People might notice us standing here—you with your teeth bared like an ill-tempered dog. … Oh, thank you!” And as they moved on, Lanyard continued: “Shall I explain why we’re not apt to meet again?”
“If it amuses you.”
“Thanks once more! … For the simple reason that Paris satisfies me; so here I stop.”
“Well?” the spy asked with a blank sidelong look.
“Whereas you are leaving Paris tonight.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you value your thick hide too highly to remain, my dear captain.” Having gained the corner of the boulevard St. Denis, Lanyard pulled up. “One moment, by your leave. You see yonder the entrance to the Métro—don’t you? And here, a dozen feet away, a perfectly able-bodied sergent de ville? Let this fateful conjunction impress you properly: for five minutes after you have descended to the Métro—or as soon as the noise of a train advises me you’ve had one chance to get away—I shall mention casually to the sergo—that I have seen Captain Ek—”
“Hush!” the German protested in a hiss of fright.
“But certainly: I’ve no desire to embarrass you: publicity must be terribly distasteful to one of your sensitive and retiring disposition. … But I trust you understand me? On the one hand, there’s the Métro; on the other, there’s the flic; while here, you must admit, am I, as large as life and very much on the job! … And inasmuch as I shall certainly mention my suspicions to the minion of the law—as aforesaid—I’d advise you to be well out of Paris before dawn!”
There was murder in the eyes of the spy as he lingered, truculently glowering at the smiling adventurer; and for an instant Lanyard was well-persuaded he had gone too far, that even there, even on that busy junction of two crowded thoroughfares, Ekstrom would let his temper get the better of his judgment and risk everything in an attempt upon the life of his despoiler.
But he was mistaken.
With a surly shrug the spy swung about and marched straight to the kiosk of the underground railway, into which, without one backward glance, he disappeared.
Two minutes later the earth beneath Lanyard’s feet quaked with the crash and rumble of a northbound train.
He waited three minutes longer; but Ekstrom didn’t reappear; and at length convinced that his warning had proved effectual, Lanyard turned and made off.
XVI
Restitution
For all that success had rewarded his effrontery, Lanyard’s mind was far from easy during the subsequent hour
