This could not be gainsaid; and to a man connected with the Carlist
organization the shortest way was to introduce myself as that
"Monsieur George" of whom he had probably heard.
He leaned far over the table, till his very breast-bone was over
the edge, as though his eyes had been stilettos and he wanted to
drive them home into my brain. It was only much later that I
understood how near death I had been at that moment. But the
knives on the tablecloth were the usual restaurant knives with
rounded ends and about as deadly as pieces of hoop-iron. Perhaps
in the very gust of his fury he remembered what a French restaurant
knife is like and something sane within him made him give up the
sudden project of cutting my heart out where I sat. For it could
have been nothing but a sudden impulse. His settled purpose was
quite other. It was not my heart that he was after. His fingers
indeed were groping amongst the knife handles by the side of his
plate but what captivated my attention for a moment were his red
lips which were formed into an odd, sly, insinuating smile. Heard!
To be sure he had heard! The chief of the great arms smuggling
organization!
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