You must excuse
me--h'm--I thought you the other side of the Channel. Sudden surprise
almost took my breath away."
"La!" said Sir Percy, with a good-humoured grin, "it did that
quite, didn't it--er--M.--er--Chaubertin?"
"Pardon me--Chauvelin."
"I beg pardon--a thousand times. Yes--Chauvelin of course. . . .
Er. . .I never could cotton to foreign names. . . ."
He was calmly eating his soup, laughing with pleasant good-humour,
as if he had come all the way to Calais for the express purpose of
enjoying supper at this filthy inn, in the company of his arch-enemy.
For the moment Marguerite wondered why Percy did not knock the
little Frenchman down then and there--and no doubt something of the
sort must have darted through his mind, for every now and then his
lazy eyes seemed to flash ominously, as they rested on the slight
figure of Chauvelin, who had now quite recovered himself and was also
calmly eating his soup.
But the keen brain, which had planned and carried through so
many daring plots, was too far-seeing to take unnecessary risks. This
place, after all, might be infested with spies; the innkeeper might be
in Chauvelin's pay.
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