He satisfied
himself that the bike was in working order and filled up the
tank. He had an idea that this means of conveyance might come in
useful.
The day was so mild that he lunched by the open window with the
sunshine casting rainbows can the tablecloth through the
wine-glasses. He was just finishing his coffee when the
housekeeper came in and told him he was wanted on the telephone.
Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching orders
at last! he thought, as he hurried across the hall to the
library.
"Hullo!" he cried as he picked up the receiver.
"Is that Mr. Bellward?" answered a nasal voice.
"Bellward speaking!" said Desmond, wondering who had called him
up. The voice was a man's but it was not the abrupt clear tones
of the Chief nor yet Mr. Matthews' careful accents.
"Madame Le Bon wishes to see you!"
Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name that
Nur-el-Din had given him. "I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgian
refugee," she had said.
"Do you know whom I mean?" the voice continued.
"Certainly," replied Desmond. "You will come alone. Otherwise,
Madame will not see you. You understand? If you do not come
alone, you will waste your time!"
"Where are you speaking from?" Desmond asked.
"If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate," the
voice resumed, "and follow the road, a messenger will meet you
and take you to the lady.
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