Unfortunately, Captain White was not having so pleasant a time as Sir Henry. He disliked France, disliked Paris, and most of all disliked his fellow officer. He grimaced and pulled his greatcoat tighter around him, trying to keep out the nighttime chill, and pondered his companion, currently at their lodgings, in bed. If only Quinn was not so prim and proper, so quiet and dutiful. The man would not share a bottle of wine, or talk of the pretty American girl with whom he had intimated he was carrying on, or play a game of cards to pass the time.
Captain White had been in Paris for three days now, and he was already bored. Fontaine, their bait, had not made a move, as far as they could tell and he was frustrated. Their orders were clear - watch Fontaine, report on his movements and discover exactly who was passing information on to him. It was easier said than done. Fontaine may have been a weasel, but he was a discreet one. Alec curled his lip in disgust. The man, to a casual observer, appeared perfectly respectable and quiet - he had a well-run business, plenty of money, and his natural infidelities were admirably discreet.
He and Quinn took it in turns to watch him; one sleeping, one on duty at all times. But so far, their attention to their work had not been rewarded. And Quinn's cold reticence did nothing to aid the misery of the situation.
Alec sighed and returned his attention to the door of the house he was watching. It was, he feared, going to be a very long night.