The experience was nothing novel in his history. He rose less resentful than regretful that his ill-luck obliged him to quit just when play was most interesting, and resignedly sought the cloakroom for his coat and hat.
And there he found De Morbihan—again!—standing all garmented for the street, mouthing a huge cigar and wearing a look of impatient discontent.
“At last!” he cried in an aggrieved tone as Lanyard appeared in the offing. “You do take your time, my friend!”
Lanyard smothered with a smile whatever emotion was his of the moment.
“I didn’t imagine you really meant to wait for me,” he parried with double meaning, both to humour De Morbihan and hoodwink the attendant.
“What do you think?” retorted the Count with asperity—“that I’m willing to stand by and let you moon round Paris at this hour of the morning, hunting for a taxicab that isn’t to be found and running God-knows-what risk of being stuck up by some misbegotten Apache? But I should say not! I mean to take you home in my car, though it cost me a half-hour of beauty sleep not lightly to be forfeited at my age!”
The significance that underlay the semi-humourous petulance of the little man was not wasted.
“You’re most amiable, Monsieur le Comte!” Lanyard observed thoughtfully, while the attendant produced his hat and coat. “So now, if you’re ready, I won’t delay you longer.”
In another moment they were outside the clubhouse, its doors shut behind them, while before them, at the curb, waited that same handsome black limousine which had brought the adventurer from L’Abbaye.
Two swift glances, right and left, showed him an empty street, bare of hint of danger.
“One moment, monsieur!” he said, detaining the Count with a touch on his sleeve. “It’s only right that I should advise you … I’m armed.”
“Then you’re less foolhardy than one feared. If such things interest you, I don’t mind admitting I carry a life-preserver of my own. But what of that? Is one eager to go shooting at this time of night, for the sheer fun of explaining to sergents de ville that one has been attacked by Apaches? … Providing always one lives to explain!”
“It’s as bad as that, eh?”
“Enough to make me loath to linger at your side in a lighted doorway!”
Lanyard laughed in his own discomfiture. “Monsieur le Comte,” said he, “there’s a dash in you of what your American pal, Mysterious Smith, would call sporting blood, that commands my unstinted admiration. I thank you for your offered courtesy, and beg leave to accept.”
De Morbihan replied with a grunt of none too civil intonation, instructed the chauffeur “To Troyon’s,” and followed Lanyard into the car.
“Courtesy!” he repeated, settling himself with a shake. “That makes nothing. If I regarded my own inclinations, I’d let you go to the devil as quick as Popinot’s assassins could send you there!”
“This is delightful!” Lanyard protested. “First you must see me home to save my life, and then you tell me your inclinations consign me to a premature grave. Is there an explanation, possibly?”
“On your person,” said the Count, sententious.
“Eh?”
“You carry your reason with you, my friend—in the shape of the Omber loot.”
“Assuming you are right—”
“You never went to the rue du Bac, monsieur, without those jewels: and I have had you under observation ever since.”
“What conceivable interest,” Lanyard pursued evenly, “do you fancy you’ve got in the said loot?”
“Enough, at least, to render me unwilling to kiss it adieu by leaving you to the mercies of Popinot. You don’t imagine I’d ever hear of it again, when his Apaches had finished with you?”
“Ah! … So, after all, your so-called organization isn’t founded on that reciprocal trust so essential to the prosperity of such—enterprises!”
“Amuse yourself as you will with your inferences, my friend,” the Count returned, unruffled; “but don’t forget my advice: pull wide of Popinot!”
“A vindictive soul, eh?”
“One may say that.”
“You can’t hold him?”
“That one? No fear! You were anything but wise to bait him as you did.”
“Perhaps. It’s purely a matter of taste in associates.”
“If I were the fool you think me,” mused the Count “I’d resent that innuendo. As it happens, I’m not. At least, I can wait before calling you to account.”
“And meantime profit by your patience?”
“But naturally. Haven’t I said as much?”
“Still, I’m perplexed. I can’t imagine how you reckon to declare yourself in on the Omber loot.”
“All in good time: if you were wise, you’d hand the stuff over to me here and now, and accept what I chose to give you in return. But inasmuch as you’re the least wise of men, you must have your lesson.”
“Meaning—?”
“The night brings counsel: you’ll have time to think things over. By tomorrow you’ll be coming to offer me those jewels in exchange for what influence I have in certain quarters.”
“With your famous friend, the Chief of the Sûreté, eh?”
“Possibly. I am known also at La Tour Pointue.”
“I confess I don’t follow you, unless you mean to turn informer.”
“Never that.”
“It’s a riddle, then?”
“For the moment only. … But I will say this: it will be futile, your attempting to escape Paris; Popinot has already picketted every outlet. Your one hope resides in me; and I shall be at home to you until midnight tomorrow—today, rather.”
Impressed in spite of himself, Lanyard stared. But the Count maintained an imperturbable manner, looking straight ahead. Such calm assurance would hardly be sheer bluff.
“I must think this over,” Lanyard mused aloud.
“Pray don’t let me hinder you,” the Count begged with mild sarcasm. “I have my own futile thoughts. …”
Lanyard laughed quietly and subsided into a reverie which, undisturbed by De Morbihan, endured throughout the brief remainder of their drive; for, thanks to the smallness of the hour, the streets were practically deserted and offered no obstacle to speed; while the chauffeur was doubtless eager for his bed.
As they drew near Troyon’s, however, Lanyard sat up and jealously reconnoitered both sides of the way.
“Surely you don’t expect to be kept out?” the Count asked dryly. “But that just shows how
