A few days before leaving the Section, I had written in to Paris to despatch a second cablegram to the United States and I hoped upon reaching Paris I would find the essential reply waiting for me at the banking house of Morgan-Harjes.
Just as I was about to get into the Staff car to start for Paris, it was “Farney” who came up to me and handed me twenty francs to see me through the journey.
It was midnight when I reached Paris and I was completely tired out. I engaged a taxicab and told the chauffeur to drive to Henry’s, Number Eleven, Rue Volney. Henry’s Hotel had been the semi-official headquarters of Section One in Paris practically since the war started. Here at least I could make myself known.
To be sure, I had some excellent letters to people in Paris but I certainty was not going to use them to establish credit, and I did not feel up to social calls.
Before the war, Henry’s had been something of a rendezvous for rich sporting men, those who followed the races and the like. Since the war, it was still patronized by those who had gone there before and also by aviators, ambulanciers, army officers, French, English and American. Henry had a transient business and he also held a clientèle. When I had been there in June, I had seen certain well dressed, well groomed young and middle aged men drifting in at certain hours. I saw these same faces there again in September and also saw them again in December. I wondered what their occupations might be, either real or ostensible. Almost any day between five and six, Henry could be seen shaking dice with his clientèle.
Henry was a little short trim fellow with a florid face, grey moustache and usually dressed immaculately in a frock coat. He wore glasses when he took inventory of the cash register. When he took inventory of people, he usually squinted his eyes into little slits, so that people who were being inventoried would scarcely realize that they were being noticed. Among foreigners and Parisians, Henry was one of the characters of the city. I say “was,” because Henry has since passed on to another world. When I reached there the hotel was closed but a ring on the bell brought the concièrge to the door in his pajamas and bath robe. I was shown to a room with a bed in it, white pillows, clean sheets――and it was very nice.