"Are you sure the Legation approved?" he asked, his tone half way between unsure and rushed.
"I am telling you what they said," I reply with a wave of my hand.
"Hm," he frowned, "And what about Mister Heng?"
"He has an appointment tomorrow with a client," I open the newspaper, "Perhaps the day after, he said he would be free then."
"Like a gentleman," he smiled, shrugging his bag over his shoulder. "I should be back by three, I'll be at the Continental."
"I will send the wire through while you are out," I said as he walked out, he raised his hand in thanks.
Since the bombing of the Square, everyone was unusually quiet, which was even more pronounced in the office. I suppose that the square had been quite a favourite amongst the off duty reporters and correspondents: now they have a negative association with it. At least they did not stop going there altogether; otherwise contacts would have to meet somewhere less inviting; like the Dakow bridge for Mister Pyle and Mister Heng.
In the distance, grenades and motorbombs echoed, their explosions glowed and flashed against the dark clouds. Voux Moulin at night: watching the conflict at a distance, just a few short weeks after Mister Pyle's death. His Third Force seems not to be working at the moment: there is fighting going on.
The French officer, Vigot, entered the Moulin and scaned the room with his eyes. I stood up to grasp his attention, he smiled faintly and weaved through the network of chairs, tables and seated patrons.
"Have you found the conspirator yet, Dominguez?" he asked as he sat.
"No," I replied curtly, "I have not. But my contact said he found a lead that may be of use to you."
The Frenchman leaned forward to read the article I place before him.
"The Third Force, is it?" he asked, sliding it back.
"That depends on whose side you are on," I took it back and folded it, "If you see Pyle's Third Force, you are constructing a good deal for yourself. Your previous attempts to catch this killer is only confronted with more mystery and dead ends, is it not?"
He knew as well as I that his struggle to find leads was a constant and ever present aspect of his duty.
"How will you help?" he asked.
"Only to be a lead," I replied. "See this as a constructive criticism."
Mister Heng was waiting for me by the bridge after Vigot left. I had five minutes left until the appointed time, so I took the time to walk slowly. Heng was definitely a person to be wary of: he can cause chaos that can be for the benefit of the people and officials, like his organisation of finding the timing of the bombs. The conflict though, is still here, the bombs and grenades are still being thrown around at night.
Mister Heng comes forward from behind a food vending stall, two of his colleagues in tow.
"Let us go to the rue Catinat by trishaw," he began, "We will discuss our matters as we go."
He signalled on of his colleagues and he leaves, only to come back with a trishaw and in uniform.
"He is more reliable than other drivers," Heng explained, "Also, this way, we do not need worry about loud Americans finding out."
"Fowler says yes for the arrangement tomorrow," I say quietly as the trishaw starts to move. "He wants you to know about the Legation's agreement."
"About the commission?" he asked casually.
"Indeed," I confirm, he already knows. "You have a contact in the Legation?"
"Naturally," he gave me a sideways look. "The Economic Attache, Joe, is he familiar to you?"