MATTERS SEEMED AT A standstill at the Villa Geneviève. Giraud evidently did not desire my company and, from what I had seen, it seemed fairly certain that Jack Renauld did not either.
I went back to the town, had an enjoyable bathe, and returned to the hotel. I turned in early, wondering whether the following day would bring forth anything of interest.
I was wholly unprepared for what it did bring forth. I was eating my petit déjeuner in the dining room, when the waiter, who had been talking to someone outside, came back in obvious excitement. He hesitated for a minute, fidgeting with his napkin, and then burst out:
“Monsieur will pardon me, but he is connected, is he not, with the affair at the Villa Geneviève?”
“Yes,” I said eagerly. “Why?”
“Monsieur has not heard the news, though?”
