As soon as Dantès had left, Martins turned to us, a serious expression on his face. Before he could speak, Theo did.

"You know he and I are old friends, Martins. Please do not be concerned. I will not make a scene," He promised. He sounded contrite, like a schoolboy when the teacher comes after him with a birch rod.

Martins' expression did not change. "This is the third time in six months. I would hate to lose your - your patronage, sir. But I cannot have this happen. I will have to let Dantès go."

"Please don't fire Mr. Dantès," I begged. I forced as much emotion into my voice as my nervous state would permit. I was sure that Dantès would throw me out of the WPA if I got him fired, but  I also felt as though I had betrayed a friend.

"If you fire him you will certainly lose my patronage," Hentzau said, "and that of my family.  I promise, there will be no more scenes."

Mr. Martins made a face. He sighed. "Very good, sir. But I am assigning another waiter to your table. Permanently"

Hentzau nodded. "That is acceptable."

Martins left; Hentzau and I sat in a silence I did not know how to break. A waiter came, and left; the only words spoken were our orders. Finally, once there was a bowl of soup in front of each of us, Theo spoke.

"I am sorry, Miss Auber. I had hoped that our dinner together would be pleasant."

"It isn't your fault;" I replied, remembering that he was an important contact. "Comrade Dantès should not have made a scene."

"I see you call him 'Comrade' - I take it, then that you are a member of his socialist organization?"

I laughed, and answered as truthfully as I could. "I do attend the WPA meetings, but I am hardly a socialist. While I support their position on fair wages and working hours, I do not agree with their positions on matters of government. How do you happen to know him?"

He smiled at me. " Dantès and I were at university together."

Here was another fact I did not know. Theo von Hentzau was added to my mental list of people with a thorough knowledge of chemistry. I wondered how well he and Dantès really knew each other - so I stood up, smiled, and politely excused myself.

I did not go so far as the lavatories; I only walked around the nearest corner and concealed myself in some draperies.

One excellent accoutrement for females in my line of work is a simple hand-mirror. For a man, gazing at a mirror during a social engagement would incite immediate suspicion, or at least, result in his being accused of the most terrible vanity. For a woman, it is a natural affectation, and goes practically unnoticed. 

I positioned my mirror in such a way that I could see Hentzau, seated alone at the table. To my delight, Dantès approached the table almost immediately. Without slowing his stride, Dantès dropped a small, folded-up wad of paper on the white cloth, and kept walking. Hentzau unfolded the paper, glanced at its contents. Exactly sixty-three seconds later, he stood up and walked in the same direction Dantès had gone. I, of course, followed.