A look of incredulity visited the face of the schoolmaster. He pointed across the square. “There. She has taken the ‘Lion of Flanders.’ She gives lunch to officers!” When this was conveyed to the A.P.M. he was considerably annoyed. “Why couldn’t that old fool Vander what’s-his-name say so?” Blanquart understood perfectly, not only the words, but the feeling. “Ah, Monsieur, there you have the peasant. I have lived among them all my life. I am not of them, I am from St. Omer, but I know them well. They are like that. They are thrashing. They are sowing. They cannot attend to anything else, even if it be their own business. You and I shall be treated like the weather, something to be used or avoided....” But the A.P.M. had stepped out of the Estaminet de la Mairie. Dormer lingered, just sufficiently to say: “We are much obliged, M. Blanquart, we will attend to the affair.” For he had been brought up to behave as a little gentleman and knew that politeness cost nothing and that he might require the Secretary of the Mairie again. Outside, the chauffeur was busy underneath the car, the policeman stood beside it, legs apart, hands clasped behind his back, face expressing absolutely nothing. In a few strides Dormer caught up to the A.P.M. “This lady speaks good English, sir. No doubt you will conduct the inquiry yourself?” “I hope so, if we really have found the person at last. We’ve wasted nearly the whole morning.” Dormer was relieved; his mind, always inclined to run a little in advance, had already arrived at the point at which some one would have to ask this woman: “Are you the victim of this shocking crime?” He didn’t want to do it, for he felt that it was the A.P.M.’s business.