Pursuit of Passy

by David Moore Crook

  ******

  The minutes dragged on. At quarter to eight Carnac raised his head.

  “Now we start,” he said. “It is time for you to go, Giselle. Walk straight there, meet our friend and bring him back with you. I'll ring the Deux Frères just after eight to hear your news, and remember you are doing your duty, however unpleasant it may seem, so don't worry about it.”

  She smiled wanly and stood up, pale but resolute. My heart went out to her.

  “I shan't fail you, I promise,” she said quietly. “Wish me luck” —and she picked up her bag and left the room.

  “Poor girl,” said Carnac. “She is very unhappy.” He poured out another cognac apiece. “Now we can settle matters that I prefer not to discuss in front of her. Peter, my friend, I want you to leave this affair to me. You have played a big part in it, but now it is a private matter between one Frenchman and another—you understand?”

  I nodded. d'Angelay drew a knife from under his coat, laid it on the table and said grimly: “Yes, certainly, it is for us to deal with him.”

  There was no mercy in their faces, just a cold and inflexible determination. I suppose we should feel the same with an Englishman who sold himself to the enemy.

  At eight minutes past eight Carnac went out to telephone. He came back very quickly, his voice shaking slightly with excitement.

  “She has met him!” he said. “They are coming along now. Get ready.”

  I drew my revolver, took up position behind the door and waited.