The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. The major himself told me that this secret passage started upstairs. “What has he done? “What shall I do. ” “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. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock.
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