The colonel did not open his eyes. He merely dropped the palm fan which he was idly waving to and fro so that it hid his mouth.
"Do you remember a Monsieur White?" he said in the same tone.
"Perfectly," replied the other. "He was the man who would not have your little 'coco' friend--disposed of."
"That is the man," said the other. "You have a good memory, Raoul."
"Monsieur, my memory is wonderful, but alas! one cannot live on memory," he added sententiously.
"Then remember this: there is a place near London called Putney Heath."
"It is empty--to let, _à louer_, you understand. It is in a sad state of desolation. The garden, the house--you know the kind of place?"
"At nine o'clock to-night and at nine o'clock to-morrow night you will be near the door. There is a large clump of bushes, behind which you will stand. You will stay there until ten. Between those hours M. White will approach and go into the house. You understand?"
"Perfectly, monsieur," said the voice again.
"You will shoot him so that he dies immediately."
"I will pay you sixty thousand francs, and I will have a motor-car to take you direct to Dover. You will catch the night boat for Ostend. Your passport will be in order, and you can make your way to Paris at your leisure. The payment you will receive in Paris. Is that satisfactory?"
"Eminently so, monsieur," said the other. "I need a little for expenses for the moment. Also I wish information as to where the motor-car will meet me."
"It will be waiting for you at the corner of the first road past the house, on the way from London. You will not speak to the chauffeur and he will not speak to you. In the car you will find sufficient money for your immediate needs. Is there any necessity to explain further?"
"None whatever, monsieur," said the soft voice, and Raoul dropped his head on one side as though he were sleeping.
As for the colonel, he did not simulate slumber, but passed into dreamland, sleeping quietly and calmly, with a look of benevolence upon his big face.
The only other occupant of the cooling room, a big-framed man who was reading a newspaper, closed his eyes too--but he did not sleep.
At nine o'clock that night the colonel, in immaculate evening-dress, sat playing double-dummy bridge with his two companions. In the light of the big shaded lamp overhead there was something particularly peaceful and innocent in their occupation. No word was spoken save of the game.