to the Cafe Montmartre.

He mounted the stairs and passed through the little bar which led into
the supper-room. Monsieur Albert came forward with a low bow.

"You can find me a table, I suppose?" Duncombe remarked, looking round.
"Where shall I sit?"

Monsieur Albert shook his head slowly. His hands were outstretched, his
manner sad, but resigned.

"I am very sorry, Monsieur, but to-night every place is taken. I have
had to turn others away already," he declared. "A thousand regrets."

Duncombe looked at him astonished. The place was more than half empty.

"Surely you can find me a small table somewhere," he said. "I was here
last evening, you know. If it is because I am alone I will order supper
for two and a magnum of wine."

Monsieur Albert was immovable. He remembered Duncombe well, and he was
proud of his patronage, but to-night it was impossible to offer him a
table. Duncombe began to be annoyed.

"Very well," he said, "I will stay in the bar. You can't turn me out of
there, can you?"

Monsieur Albert was evasive. He desired Monsieur Duncombe to be amused,
and the people who remained in the bar--well, it was not possible to get
rid of them, but they were not fitting company for him.

"There is the Cafe Mazarin," he added confidentially, "a few steps only
from here--a most amusing place. The most wonderful ladies there, too,
very chic, and crowded every night! Monsieur should really try it. The
commissionaire would direct him--a few yards only."

"Much obliged to you," Duncombe answered, turning on his heel. "I may
look in there presently."

He seated himself at a small round table and ordered a drink. The people
here were of a slightly different class from those who had the _entree_
to the supper-room and were mostly crowded round the bar itself. At a
small desk within a few feet of him a middle-aged woman with a cold,
hard face sat with a book of account before her and a pile of bills.
There was something almost Sphynx-like about her appearance. She never
spoke. Her expression never changed. Once their eyes met. She looked at
him steadfastly, but said nothing. The girl behind the bar also took
note of him. She was very tall and slim, absolutely colorless, and with
coils of fair hair drawn tightly back from her forehead. She was never
without a cigarette, lighting a fresh one always from its predecessor,
talking all the while unceasingly, but without the slightest change of
expression. Once she wave