nd water, threw the contents at the
half-caste.

Krool did not stir, and some of the liquid caught him in the face.
Slowly he drew out an old yellow handkerchief and wiped his cheeks, his
eyes fixed with a kind of impersonal scrutiny on Barry Whalen and the
scene before him.

The night was well forward, and an air of recklessness and dissipation
pervaded this splendid room in De Lancy Scovel's house. The air was
thick with tobacco-smoke, trays were scattered about, laden with stubs
of cigars and ashes, and empty and half-filled glasses were everywhere.
Some of the party had already gone, their gaming instinct satisfied for
the night, their pockets lighter than when they came; and the tables
where they had sat were in a state of disorder more suggestive of a
"dive" than of the house of one who lived in Grosvenor Square.

No servant came to clear away the things. It was a rule of the
establishment that at midnight the household went to bed, and the host
and his guests looked after themselves thereafter. The friends of De
Lancy Scovel called him "Cupid," because of his cherubic face, but he
was more gnome than cherub at heart. Having come into his fortune by
being a henchman to abler men than himself, he was almost over-zealous
to retain it, knowing that he could never get it again; yet he was
hospitable with the income he had to spend. He was the Beau Brummel of
that coterie which laid the foundation of prosperity on the Rand; and
his house was a marvel of order and crude elegance--save when he had
his roulette and poker parties, and then it was the shambles of
murdered niceties. Once or twice a week his friends met here; and it
was not mendaciously said that small fortunes were lost and won within
these walls "between drinks."

The critical nature of things on the Rand did not lessen the gaming or
the late hours, the theatrical entertainments and social functions at
which Al'mah or another sang at a fabulous fee; or from which a dancer
took away a pocketful of gold--partly fee. Only a few of all the group,
great and small, kept a quiet pace and cherished their nerves against
possible crisis or disaster; and these were consumed by inward anxiety,
because all the others looked to them for a lead, for policy, for the
wise act and the manoevre that would win.

Rudyard Byng was the one person who seemed equally compacted of both
elements. He was a powerful figure in the financial inner circle; but
he was one of those wh