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For exactly a month Julien disappeared. At the end of that time, looking very brown, a shade thinner, and possessed of a knowledge of the older towns of Normandy which would not have disgraced a guidebook, he arrived one cold, gray morning at the Gare du Nord. During all this time he had scarcely seen one familiar face. It was an unpleasant shock for him, as he waited for his baggage in the Customs House, to realize that he was being watched from behind a pile of trunks by the little man who had shown so much interest in him at the Cafe l'Athenee on the night he had left England. The sight somehow annoyed him. He crossed the room and accosted his late subordinate.
"What is your name? " he asked coldly. "You are in the Intelligence Department, I believe?"