which gave him the look of a peasant, who had wandered into a crowd with
which he had nothing in common. The Beadle was capitally disguised as a
coachman in good service who is out of a situation, but who, from vanity
and custom, sports the emblems of office.

He was continually chewing a quid of tobacco; for such is the habit of
coachmen who cannot smoke on their seats, and thus console themselves
with two sous' worth of roll tobacco.

The Beadle stopped beside a chauffeur who had just got down from his
car, a magnificent limousine, lined with cream cloth, while its exterior
was a dark maroon in the best taste.

"Why, it's Casimir!" cried the Beadle, going up to the chauffeur with
hands outstretched and smiling face.

Mechanically the chauffeur, addressed as Casimir, responded to the
offered handclasp. But, after a short silence, he said in a questioning
tone, quite frankly:

"I cannot recall you."

"Can't you remember me!" cried the Beadle. "Why, don't you remember
Cesar--Cesar who was with Rothschild last year?"

No, Casimir could not remember. But he was quite willing to believe that
he knew Cesar, for he had seen and known so many since he had been in
the service of Princess Sonia Danidoff, that there was nothing
extraordinary about his forgetfulness. Besides, Cesar looked quite a
decent fellow, and had a taking face, and one only had to look at that
beaming countenance of his to be sure that an invitation to take a drink
together would soon be forthcoming!

The Beadle, satisfied that he had so easily made a friend of the
chauffeur of Sonia Danidoff, whom he had only known by sight for the
last forty-eight hours, did in fact suggest their taking a glass
together. The Beadle had indeed come up to expectations!

Drink was Casimir's besetting sin. Excellent chauffeur, solid and
serious fellow as he was, he had two defects: he was addicted to
tippling, though he never drank to excess, and never got drunk. Also, he
was fond of a gossip: he could talk for hours without stopping.

The Beadle had been posted up regarding Casimir's little weaknesses and
tastes. Thus nothing was easier than to set trap after trap, into each
of which the simple fellow fell as they were set--fell fatally.

The Beadle introduced the Beard to Casimir under the name of Father
India-rubber: an old codger, whose trade was to buy and sell tyres to
chauffeurs, tyres new and also second-hand. At this moment a young
ragamuffin appeared o