out for
pigeons to pluck. The American bars of London each have their little
circle of well-dressed sharks, and woe betide the victims who fall
into their unscrupulous hands. I had believed Jack Marlowe to be more
wary. He was essentially a man of the world, and had always laughed at
the idea that he could be "had" by sharpers, or induced to play with
strangers.

I think I must have waited for about a quarter of an hour. As I sat
there, I felt overcome by a curious drowsiness, due, no doubt, to the
strenuous day I had had, for I had driven down to Ascot in the car,
and had gone very tired to bed.

Suddenly, without a sound, the door opened, and a youngish,
dark-haired, clean-shaven man in evening dress entered swiftly,
accompanied by another man a few years older, tall and thin, whose
nose and pimply face was that of a person much dissipated. Both were
smoking cigars.

"You are Mr. Biddulph, I believe!" exclaimed the younger. "Marlowe
expects you. He's over the road, talking to the girl."

"What girl?"

"Oh, a little girl who lives over there," he said, with a mysterious
smile. "But have you brought the cheque?" he asked. "He told us that
you'd settle up with us."

"Yes," I said, "I have my cheque-book in my pocket."

"Then perhaps you'll write it?" he said, taking a pen-and-ink and
blotter from a side-table and placing it upon the card-table. "The
amount altogether is one thousand one hundred and ten pounds," he
remarked, consulting an envelope he took from his pocket.

"I shall give you a cheque for it when my friend comes," I said.

"Yes, but we don't want to be here all night, you know," laughed the
pimply-faced man. "You may as well draw it now, and hand it over to us
when he comes in."

"How long is he likely to be?"

"How can we tell? He's a bit gone on her."

"Who is she?"

"Oh! a little girl my friend Reckitt here knows," interrupted the
younger man. "Rather pretty. Reckitt is a fair judge of good looks.
Have a cigarette?" and the man offered me a cigarette, which, out of
common courtesy, I was bound to take from his gold case.

I sat back in my chair and lit up, and as I did so my ears caught the
faint sound of a receding motor-car.

"Aren't you going to draw the cheque?" asked the man with the pimply
face. "Marlowe said you would settle at once; Charles Reckitt is my
name. Make it out to me."

"And so I will, as soon as he arrives," I replied.

"Why not now? We'll give you a receipt."