Chester now felt annoyed, and showed it. The thought of turning out again was not a pleasant one.
But what was this funny little Frenchman saying?
“Oh, if M’sieur had only arrived an hour ago! Madame Bailey was so terribly disappointed not to see M’sieur at dinner! A very nice special dinner was prepared, cooked by myself, in honour of Madame Bailey’s little party.”
And he went on to tell Chester, who was getting bewildered with the quick, eager talk, that this special dinner had been served at eight o’clock, and that Madame Bailey had entertained two friends that evening.
“You say that Mrs. Bailey is at the Casino?”
“Mais oui, M’sieur!”
It had never occurred to Chester that there would be a Casino in the place where Sylvia was spending the summer. But then everything at Lacville, including the Villa du Lac, was utterly unlike what the English lawyer had expected it to be.
M. Polperro spread out his hands with an eloquent gesture. “I beg of M’sieur,” he said, “to allow me to conduct him to the Casino! Madame Bailey will not be here for some time, not perhaps for one hour, perhaps for two hours. I will have the luggage sent on to the Pension Malfait.”
Strange—very strange! At home in Market Dalling Sylvia had always been fond of going to bed quite early; yet now, according to the hotelkeeper, she was perhaps going to stay out till one o’clock—till one o’clock on Sunday morning!
M. Polperro led Chester into the stately, long drawing-room; but in a very few moments he reappeared, having taken off his white apron and his chef’s cap, and put on a light grey alpaca coat and a soft hat.
As they hurried along the path which skirts the lake, Chester began to feel the charm of the place. It was very gay and delightful—“very French,” so the English lawyer told himself. The lake, too, looked beautiful—mysteriously beautiful and fairy-like, in the moonlight.
Soon they turned into a narrow dark lane.
“This is not a grand entrance to our beautiful Casino,” said M. Polperro, ruefully, “but no matter, it is lovely once you get inside!” and he chuckled happily.
When in front of the great glass doors, he touched Chester on the arm.
“I wonder whether M’sieur would care to become a member of the Club,” he said in a low voice. “I do not press M’sieur to do so! But you see, both Madame Bailey and her friends are members of the Club, and it is almost certain that it is there we shall find them. I fear it is no use our going to the Playing Rooms downstairs.”
The Playing Rooms? Sylvia a member of a club? And—for Chester’s quick, legal mind had leapt on the fact—of a gambling club?
No, that was incredible.
“I think there must be some mistake,” he said distantly. “I do not think that Mrs. Bailey is a member of a club.”
M. Polperro looked very much surprised.
“Oh, yes, indeed she is,” he answered confidently. “It is only the quite common people who content themselves, M’sieur, with risking a franc and playing the little games. But just as M’sieur likes—” he shrugged his shoulders. “I do not press M’sieur to become a member of the Club.”
Without answering, Chester paid the couple of francs admission for himself and his companion, and they walked slowly through the lower rooms, threading their way through the crowd.
“You see, M’sieur, I was right! Madame Bailey is in the Club!”
“Very well. Let us go to the Club,” said Chester, impatiently.
He was beginning, or so he thought, to understand. The Club was evidently a quiet, select part of the Casino, with a reading room and so on. Sylvia had probably made friends with some French people in her hotel, and they had persuaded her to join the Club.
He was beginning to throw off his tiredness; the unaccustomed atmosphere in which he found himself amused and interested, even if it rather shocked him.
Ten minutes later he also, thanks to the kind offices of M. Polperro, and by the payment of twenty francs, found himself a member of the Club; free of that inner sanctuary where the devotees of the fickle goddess play with gold instead of silver; and where, as even Chester could see, the people who stood round the table, risking with quiet, calculating eyes their twenty-franc pieces and banknotes, were of a very different social standing from the merry, careless crowd downstairs.
In the Baccarat Room most of the men were in evening clothes, and the women with them, if to Chester’s eyes by no means desirable or reputable-looking companions, were young, pretty, and beautifully dressed.
Still, the English lawyer felt a thrill of disgust at the thought that Sylvia Bailey could possibly be part of such a company.
Baccarat was being played at both tables, but the crowd of players centred rather round one than the other, as is almost always the way.
M. Polperro touched his companion on the arm. “And now, M’sieur,” he said briefly, “I will with your permission depart home. I think you will find Madame Bailey at that further table.”
Chester shook the owner of the Villa du Lac cordially by the hand. The little man had been really kind and helpful. It was a pity there was no vacant room in his hotel.
He made his way to the further table, and gradually reached a point of vantage where he could see those of the players who were seated round the green cloth.
As is generally the case when really high play is going on, the people who were playing, as also those watching them, were curiously quiet.
And then, with a shock of surprise which sent the blood to his cheeks, Chester suddenly saw that Sylvia Bailey was sitting nearly opposite to where he himself was standing.
There are certain scenes, certain human
