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
