CHAPTER VI

THE MÉLAMARE SECRET THIS second blow left Jean d’Enneris at any rate outwardly unmoved. He raged not, though a flood of terrible cold anger surged through his whole being. He looked at his watch and found it was seven o’clock. “Time for dinner,” he said, “and I spy a little eating-house across the road. At eight o’clock we go into action. Food first.” “Why not act now?” Béchoux wanted to know. They sat down at a corner table, among the rougher class of shop assistant and a sprinkling of taxi-drivers. “Why not?” sai…