The Lone Wolf Series. Louis Joseph Vance

      XV

       SHEER IMPUDENCE

       Table of Contents

      Though it had been nearly eight when they entered the restaurant, it was something after eleven before Lanyard called for his bill.

      "We've plenty of time," he had explained; "it'll be midnight before we can move. The gentle art of house-breaking has its technique, you know, its professional ethics: we can't well violate the privacy of Madame Omber's strong-box before the caretakers on the premises are sound asleep. It isn't done, you know, it isn't class, to go burglarizing when decent, law-abiding folk are wide-awake…. Meantime we're better off here than trapezing the streets…."

      It's a silent web of side ways and a gloomy one by night that backs up north of Les Halles: old Paris, taciturn and sombre, steeped in its memories of grim romance. But for infrequent, flickering, corner lamps, the street that welcomed them from the doors of the warm and cosy restaurant was as dismal as an alley in some city of the dead. Its houses with their mansard roofs and boarded windows bent their heads together like mutes at a wake, black-cloaked and hooded; seldom one showed a light; never one betrayed by any sound the life that lurked behind its jealous blinds. Now again the rain had ceased and, though the sky remained overcast, the atmosphere was clear and brisk with a touch of frost, in grateful contrast to the dull and muggy airs that had obtained for the last twenty-four hours.

      "We'll walk," Lanyard suggested — "if you don't mind — part of the way at least; it'll eat up time, and a bit of exercise will do us both good."

      The girl assented quietly….

      The drum of their heels on fast-drying sidewalks struck sharp echoes from the silence of that drowsy quarter, a lonely clamour that rendered it impossible to ignore their apparent solitude — as impossible as it was for Lanyard to ignore the fact that they were followed.

      The shadow dogging them on the far side of the street, some fifty yards behind, was as noiseless as any cat; but for this circumstance — had it moved boldly with unmuffled footsteps — Lanyard would have been slow to believe it concerned with him, so confident had be felt, till that moment, of having given the Pack the slip.

      And from this he diagnosed still another symptom of the Pack's incurable stupidity!

      Supremely on the alert, he had discovered the pursuit before they left the block of the restaurant. Dissembling, partly to avoid alarming the girl, partly to trick the spy, he turned this way and that round several corners, until quite convinced that the shadow was dedicated to himself exclusively, then promptly revised his first purpose and, instead of sticking to darker back ways, struck out directly for the broad, well-lighted and lively boulevard de Sébastopol.

      Crossing this without a backward glance, he turned north, seeking some café whose arrangements suited his designs; and, presently, though not before their tramp had brought them almost to the Grand Boulevards, found one to his taste, a cheerful and well-lighted establishment occupying a corner, with entrances from both streets. A hedge of forlorn fir-trees knee-deep in wooden tubs guarded its terrasse of round metal tables and spindle-shanked chairs; of which few were occupied. Inside, visible through the wide plate-glass windows, perhaps a dozen patrons sat round half as many tables — no more — idling over dominoes and gossip: steady-paced burghers with their wives, men in small ways of business of the neighbourhood.

      Entering to this company, Lanyard selected a square marble-topped table against the back wall, entrenched himself with the girl upon the seat behind it, ordered coffee and writing materials, and proceeded to light a cigarette with the nonchalance of one to whom time is of no consequence.

      "What is it?" the girl asked guardedly as the waiter scurried off to execute his commands. "You've not stopped in here for nothing!"

      "True — but lower, please!" he begged. "If we speak English loud enough to be heard it will attract attention…. The trouble is, we're followed. But as yet our faithful shadow doesn't know we know it — unless he's more intelligent than he seems. Consequently, if I don't misjudge him, he'll take a table outside, the better to keep an eye on us, as soon as he sees we're apparently settled for some time. More than that, I've got a note to write — and not merely as a subterfuge. This fellow must be shaken off, and as long as we stick together, that can't well be done."

      He interrupted himself while the waiter served them, then added sugar to his coffee, arranged the ink bottle and paper to his satisfaction, and bent over his pen.

      "Come closer," he requested — "as if you were interested in what I'm writing — and amused; if you can laugh a bit at nothing, so much the better. But keep a sharp eye on the windows. You can do that more readily than I, more naturally from under the brim of your hat…. And tell me what you see…."

      He had no more than settled into the swing of composition, than the girl — apparently following his pen with closest attention — giggled coquettishly and nudged his elbow.

      "The window to the right of the door we came in," she said, smiling delightedly; "he's standing behind the fir-trees, staring in."

      "Can you make out who he is?" Lanyard asked without moving his lips.

      "Nothing more than that he's tall," she said with every indication of enjoying a tremendous joke. "His face is all in shadow…."

      "Patience!" counselled the adventurer. "He'll take heart of courage when convinced of our innocence."

      He poised his pen, examined the ceiling for inspiration, and permitted a slow smile to lighten his countenance.

      "You'll take this note, if you please," he said cheerfully, "to the address on the envelope, by taxi: it's some distance, near the Etoile…. A long chance, but one we must risk; give me half an hour alone and I'll guarantee to discourage this animal one way or another. You understand?"

      "Perfectly," she laughed archly.

      He bent and for a few moments wrote busily.

      "Now he's walking slowly round the corner, never taking his eyes from you," the girl reported, shoulder to his shoulder and head distractingly near his head.

      "Good. Can you see him any better?"

      "Not yet…."

      "This note," he said, without stopping his pen or appearing to say anything "is for the concierge of a building where I rent stabling for a little motor-car. I'm supposed there to be a chauffeur in the employ of a crazy Englishman, who keeps me constantly travelling with him back and forth between Paris and London. That's to account for the irregularity with which I use the car. They know me, monsieur and madame of the conciergerie, as Pierre Lamier; and I think they're safe — not only trustworthy and of friendly disposition, but quite simple-minded; I don't believe they gossip much. So the chances are De Morbihan and his gang know nothing of the arrangement. But that's all speculation — a forlorn hope!"

      "I understand," the girl observed. "He's