"I find this sort of conversation a little peevish, Miller," he said.
"As soon as any definite difference of opinion arises between you and
Tallente, I will intervene. At present you are both doing good work.
Our cause needs you both."

"You won't forget how I stand?" Miller persisted, as they reached their
destination.

"No one has ever yet accused me of breaking my word," was the somewhat
chilly rejoinder. "You shall have your pound of flesh."



CHAPTER IX

Jane leaned back in her chair, drew off her gloves and looked around her
with an appreciative smile. She had somehow the subtle air of being
even more pleased with herself and her surroundings than she was willing
to admit. Every table in the restaurant was occupied. The waiters were
busy: there was an air of gaiety. A faint smell of cookery hung about
the place and its clients were undeniably a curious mixture of the
bourgeois and theatrical. Nevertheless, she was perfectly content and
smiled her greetings to the great Monsieur George, who himself brought
their menu.

"We want the best of your ordinary dishes," Tallente told him, "and
remember that we do not come here expecting Ritz specialities or a Savoy
_chef d'oeuvre_. We want those special _hors d'oeuvres_ which you know
all about, a sole grilled _a la maison_, a plainly roasted chicken with