"
"If any one in authority asks me that," I said, "I'll answer him. I
certainly don't propose to answer you." My arms were folded; I looked
haughtily indifferent; but it was pure bluff. The only paper I had with
me was my passport. What the dickens could I do if he turned nasty along
such lines.
"As I was saying," he resumed, unruffled, "I'm not asking you why you're
here--because I know. I've got to hand it to you that you're a dead-game
sport. Most men's hair would have turned white at Gibraltar after the
fuss you had. And here you are again--in the ring for all you're worth!"
"I suppose you mean something," I said wearily, "but it's too subtle and
cryptic. Please use words of one syllable."
He nodded tolerantly. Leaning back, thumbs in his waistcoat-pockets,
swelling visibly, he was an offensive picture of self-satisfaction and
content.
"You can't get away with it, Mr. Bayne," he declared impressively.
"You've taken on too much; I'm giving it to you straight. You can do a
lot with money and good clothes, and being born a gentleman and acting
like one, and having friends to help you; but you can't buck the French
Government and the French army and the French police.
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