There was a crackle of tissue-paper, and he drew out a photograph—­the photograph of a laughing girl with a diminutive terrier of doubtful extraction clasped in her arms.  Without any change of countenance he studied this also.

He laid it at last upon his table, and turned in his chair.  “Have you had anything to drink?”

De Montville looked slightly disconcerted by the question.  “But no!” he said.  “I have not—­that is to say, I would not—­”

Mordaunt stretched a hand to the bell.  “Holmes should have seen to it.  What do you drink?  Afraid I can’t offer you absinthe.”

“But I never drink it, monsieur.”

“No?  Whisky and soda, then?”

“What you will, monsieur.”

“Very well.  Whisky and soda, Holmes, and be quick about it.”  Mordaunt glanced at the clock, looked again at the photograph at his elbow, finally rose.  “I want a talk with you, M. de Montville,” he said, “if you feel up to it.  Don’t get up, please.  There is no necessity.”

But de Montville apparently thought otherwise, for he drew himself to a sitting position and faced his benefactor.

“I also,” he said, “have desired to talk with you since long.”

Mordaunt pulled up a chair.  “Do you mind if I talk first?” he said.

“But certainly, monsieur.”  With quick courtesy the Frenchman made reply.  His dark eyes were very intent.  He fixed them upon the Englishman’s face and composed himself to listen.

“It’s just this,” Mordaunt said.  “I think we know each other well enough to dispense with preliminaries, so I will come to the point at once.  Now you have probably realized by this time that I am a very busy man—­have been for several years past.  In my profession there is not much time for sitting still, nor, till lately, have I wanted it.  But there comes a time in most men’s lives when they feel that they would like to get out of the rash and enjoy a little leisure, take it easy—­in short, settle down and grow old in comfort.”

De Montville nodded several times with swift intelligence. “Alors, monsieur contemplates marriage,” he said.

Mordaunt laughed a little.  “Exactly, mon ami, and that speedily.”

He broke off at the entrance of his servant, and for the next few seconds busied himself with the mixing of drinks.  De Montville continued to watch him with keen interest.  As Mordaunt handed him his glass he clutched the sofa-head and stood up.

“I drink to your future happiness,” he said, with a sudden smile and bow, “and to the lady who will be so fortunate as to share it!”

Mordaunt held out his hand.  “Thank you.  Much obliged.  But sit down, my dear fellow.  I haven’t quite finished what I want to say.  And you are too shaky to be bobbing up and down.  I was just going to point out where you come in.”

De Montville gripped his hand with all his strength.  “I can serve you, then?  You have only to speak.”