AT THE CAFE MONTMARTRE Exactly a week later, at five minutes after midnight, Guy Poynton, in evening dress, entered the Cafe Montmartre, in Paris.

He made his way through the heterogeneous little crowd of men and women who were drinking at the bar, past the scarlet-coated orchestra, into the inner room, where the tables were laid for supper.

Monsieur Albert, satisfied with the appearance of his new client, led him at once to a small table, submitted the wine card, and summoned a waiter.

With some difficulty, as his French was very little better than his German, he ordered supper, and then lighting a cigarette, leaned back against the wall and looked around to see if he could discover any English or Americans.
The room was only moderately full, for the hour was a little early for this quarter of Paris.

Nevertheless, he was quick to appreciate a certain spirit of Bohemianism which pleased him.