The Cercle Extranationale

Over in a corner on a sofa a rather pretty woman, a cigarette between
her jewelled fingers, was reading an evening newspaper. Two others in
the adjoining room, young and attractive, their feet on the fireplace
fender, conversed together over a sandwich, a glass of the widely
advertised Dubonnet, and another of the equally advertised Bon Lait
Maggi--as serenely and as comfortably as though they were by their own
firesides.

"Perhaps they are," remarked Sengoun, plastering an oblong of hot
toast with caviar. "Birds of this kind nest easily anywhere."

Neeland continued to gaze toward the salon where play was in
progress. There did not seem to be many people there. At a small table
he recognised Brandes and Stull playing what appeared to be bridge
whist with two men whom he had never before seen. There were no women
playing.

As he watched the round, expressionless face of Brandes, who was
puffing a long cigar screwed tightly into the corner of his
thin-lipped mouth, it occurred to him somewhat tardily what Rue Carew
had said concerning personal danger to himself if any of these people
believed him capable of reconstructing from memory any of the stolen
plans.

He had not thought about that specific contingency; instinct alone had
troubled him a little when he first entered the Café des Bulgars.

However, his unquiet eyes could discover nothing of either Kestner or
Breslau; and, somehow, he did not even think of encountering Ilse
Dumont in such a place. As for Brandes and Stull, they did not
recognise him at all.