‘If you wanted me to go to any place in Europe or America I should
have said immediately. As you are going to send me to China I must
have six hours to get ready.’
The poet’s sleepy gaze changed into one of astonishment.
‘But have I said anything about China?’ he demanded, evidently in
some dismay.
‘You have said nothing. I am accustomed to draw inferences in my
work, and there is no time to lose if I am to start as soon as I have
said.’
‘The affair is not so pressing,’ the poet remarked with a smile.
‘The hurry and flurry of the West are not known in that delightful
country. It will be quite soon enough if you start to-morrow, or the
day after.’
‘So much the better. Am I to go to Pekin or Sing-fu?’
‘To Sing-fu.’ M. Bignaud’s tone betrayed a mild surprise at my
guess. ‘It is unnecessary, I suppose, to observe that the mission is
confidential?’
That is the sort of remark which always irritates me.
‘I am a confidential agent,’ I retorted curtly. ‘To whom am I to
report myself?’