” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. You steered and I rowed stroke. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. She proffered her neck towards him. When the lad is fit to be moved, we’ll bring him home. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy.
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