"You don't tell me!" the older man exclaimed. "Have they picked up the scent—at last?"
"The man is known," De Morbihan affirmed.
By now the conversation had caught the interest of several loitering waiters, who were listening open-mouthed. Even Roddy seemed a bit startled, and for once forgot to make business with his newspaper; but his wondering stare was exclusively for De Morbihan.
Lanyard put down knife and fork, swallowed a final mouthful of Haut Brion, and lighted a cigarette with the hand of a man who knew not the meaning of nerves.
"Garçon!" he called quietly; and ordered coffee and cigars, with a liqueur to follow….
"Known!" the American exclaimed. "They've caught him, eh?"
"I didn't say that," De Morbihan laughed; "but the mystery is no more—in certain quarters."
"Who is he, then?"
"That—monsieur will pardon me—I'm not yet free to state. Indeed, I may be indiscreet in saying as much as I do. Yet, among friends …"
His shrug implied that, as far as he was concerned, waiters were unhuman and the other guests of the establishment non-existent.
"But," the American persisted, "perhaps you can tell us how they got on his track?"
"It wasn't difficult," said De Morbihan: "indeed, quite simple. This tone of depreciation is becoming, for it was my part to suggest the solution to my friend, the Chief of the Sûreté. He had been annoyed and distressed, had even
