“Always—always, my dear Lanyard!” the Count declared, jumping up. “But come,” he insisted: “I’ve a word for your private ear, if these gentlemen will excuse us.”
“Do!” Lanyard addressed in a confidential manner those he knew at the table, before turning away to the tug of the Count’s hand on his arm—“I think he means to pay up twenty pounds he owes me!”
Some derisive laughter greeted this sally.
“I mean that, however,” Lanyard informed the other cheerfully as they moved away to a corner where conversation without an audience was possible—“you ruined that Bank of England note, you know.”
“Cheap at the price!” the Count protested, producing his billfold. “Five hundred francs for an introduction to Monsieur the Lone Wolf!”
“Are you joking?” Lanyard asked blankly—and with a magnificent gesture abolished the proffered banknote.
“Joking? I! But surely you don’t mean to deny—”
“My friend,” Lanyard interrupted, “before we assert or deny anything, let us gather the rest of the players round the table and deal from a sealed deck. Meantime, let us rest on the understanding that I have found, at one end, a message scrawled on a banknote hidden in a secret place, at the other end, yourself, Monsieur le Comte. Between and beyond these points exists a mystery, of which one anticipates elucidation.”
“You shall have it,” De Morbihan promised. “But first, we must go to those others who await us.”
“Not so fast!” Lanyard interposed. “What am I to understand? That you wish me to accompany you to the—ah—den of the Pack?”
“Where else?” De Morbihan grinned.
“But where is that?”
“I am not permitted to say—”
“Still, one has one’s eyes. Why not satisfy me here?”
“Your eyes, by your leave, monsieur, will be blindfolded.”
“Impossible.”
“Pardon—it is an essential—”
“Come, come, my friend: we are not in the Middle Ages!”
“I have no discretion, monsieur. My confrères—”
“I insist: there will be trust on both sides or no negotiations.”
“But I assure you, my dear friend—”
“My dear Count, it is useless: I am determined. Blindfold? I should say not! This is not—need I remind you again?—the Paris of Balzac and that wonderful Dumas of yours!”
“What do you propose, then?” De Morbihan enquired, worrying his moustache.
“What better place for the proposed conference than here?”
“But not here!”
“Why not? Everybody comes here: it will cause no gossip. I am here—I have come halfway; your friends must do as much on their part.”
“It is not possible. …”
“Then, I beg you, tender them my regrets.”
“Would you give us away?”
“Never that: one makes gifts to one’s friends only. But my interest in yours is depreciating so rapidly that, should you delay much longer, it will be on sale for the sum of two sous.”
“O—damn!” the Count complained peevishly.
“With all the pleasure in life. … But now,” Lanyard went on, rising to end the interview, “you must forgive me for reminding you that the morning wanes apace. I shall be going home in another hour.”
De Morbihan shrugged. “Out of my great affection for you,” he purred venomously, “I will do my possible. But I promise nothing.”
“I have every confidence in your powers of moral suasion, monsieur,” Lanyard assured him cheerfully. “Au revoir!”
And with this, not at all ill-pleased with himself, he strutted off to a table at which a high-strung session of chemin-de-fer was in process, possessed himself of a vacant chair, and in two minutes was so engrossed in the game that the Pack was quite forgotten.
In fifteen minutes he had won thrice as many thousands of francs.
Twenty minutes or half an hour later, a hand on his shoulder broke the grip of his besetting passion.
“Our table is made up, my friend,” De Morbihan announced with his inextinguishable grin. “We’re waiting for you.”
“Quite at your service.”
Settling his score and finding himself considerably better off than he had imagined, he resigned his place gracefully, and suffered the Count to link arms and drag him away up the main staircase to the second storey, where smaller rooms were reserved for parties who preferred to gamble privately.
“So it appears you succeeded!” he chaffed his conductor good-humouredly.
“I have brought you the mountain,” De Morbihan assented.
“One is grateful for small miracles. …”
But De Morbihan wouldn’t laugh at his own expense; for a moment, indeed, he seemed inclined to take umbrage at Lanyard’s levity. But the sudden squaring of his broad shoulders and the hardening of his features was quickly modified by an uneasy sidelong glance at his companion. And then they were at the door of the cabinet particulier.
De Morbihan rapped, turned the knob, and stood aside, bowing politely.
With a nod acknowledging the courtesy, Lanyard consented to precede him, and entered a room of intimate proportions, furnished chiefly with a green-covered card-table and five easy-chairs, of which three were occupied—two by men in evening dress, the third by one in a well-tailored lounge suit of dark grey.
Now all three men wore visors of black velvet.
Lanyard looked from one to the other and chuckled quietly.
With an aggrieved air De Morbihan launched into introductions:
“Messieurs, I have the honour to present to you our confrère, Monsieur Lanyard, best known as ‘The Lone Wolf.’ Monsieur Lanyard—the Council of our Association, known to you as ‘The Pack.’ ”
The three rose and bowed ceremoniously, Lanyard returned a cool, good-natured nod. Then he laughed again and more openly:
“A pack of knaves!”
“Monsieur doubtless feels at ease?” one retorted acidly.
“In your company, Popinot? But hardly!” Lanyard returned in light contempt.
The fellow thus indicated, a burly rogue of a Frenchman in rusty and baggy evening clothes, started and flushed scarlet beneath his mask; but the man next him dropped a restraining hand upon his arm, and Popinot, with a shrug, sank back into his chair.
“Upon my word!” Lanyard declared gracelessly, “it’s as good as a play! Are you sure, Monsieur le Comte, there’s no mistake—that these gay masqueraders haven’t lost their way to the stage of the Grand Guignol?”
“Damn!” muttered the Count. “Take care, my friend! You go too far!”
“You really think so? But you amaze me! You can’t in reason expect me to take you seriously, gentlemen!”
“If you don’t, it will prove serious business for you!”
