“I’m sorry,” apologised Jimmy, “but it seems to me as though I’d heard it all before—in a dream, you know.”
“I know,” said Bundle sympathetically.
“It’s impossible,” said Jimmy, following out his own train of thought. “The beautiful foreign adventuress, the international gang, the mysterious No. 7, whose identity nobody knows—I’ve read it all a hundred times in books.”
“Of course you have. So have I. But it’s no reason why it shouldn’t really happen.”
“I suppose not,” admitted Jimmy.
“After all—I suppose fiction is founded on the truth. I mean unless things did happen, people couldn’t think of them.”
“There is something in what you say,” agreed Jimmy. “But all the same I can’t help pinching myself to see if I’m awake.”
“That’s how I felt.”
Jimmy gave a deep sigh.
“Well, I suppose we are awake. Let me see, a Russian, an American, an Englishman—a possible Austrian or Hungarian—and the lady who may be any nationality—for choice Russian or Polish—that’s a pretty representative gathering.”
“And a German,” said Bundle. “You’ve forgotten the German.”
“Oh!” said Jimmy slowly. “You think—?”
“The absent No. 2. No. 2 is Bauer—our footman. That seems to me quite clear from what they said about expecting a report which hadn’t