ost festive
hour of the night. But there came, just at this moment, a curious
interruption, an interruption curious not only on its own account, but
on account of the effect which it produced. From somewhere in the
centre of the room there commenced ringing, softly at first, and
afterwards with a greater volume, a gong, something like the siren of
a motor-car, but much softer and more musical. Instantly a dead silence
seemed to fall upon the place. Conversation was broken off, laughter
was checked, even the waiters stood still in their places. The eyes of
every one seemed turned towards the door. One or two of the men rose,
and in the faces of these was manifest a sudden expression in which
was present more or less of absolute terror. Bartot for a moment
shrank back in his chair as though he had been struck, only to recover
himself the next second; and the lady with the turquoises bent over
and whispered in his ear. One person only left his place,--a young man
who had been sitting at a table at the other end of the room with one
of the gayest parties. At the very first note of alarm he had sprung
to his feet. A few seconds later, with swift, silent movements and
face as pale as a ghost, he had vanished into the little service room
from which the waiters issued and returned. With his disappearance the
curious spell which seemed to have fallen upon these other people
passed away. The waiters resumed their tasks. The room was once more
hilariously gay. Upon the threshold a newcomer was standing, a tall
man in correct morning dress, with a short gray beard and a tiny red
ribbon in his button-hole. He stood there smiling slightly--an
unobtrusive entrance, such as might have befitted any habitue of the
place. Yet all the time his eyes were travelling restlessly up and
down the room. As he stood there, one could fancy there was not a face
into which he did not look during those few minutes.

CHAPTER IV

DANGEROUS PLAY

I leaned towards Louis, but he anticipated my question. His hand had
caught my wrist and was pinning it down to the table.

"Wait!" he muttered--"wait! You perceive that we are drinking wine of
the vintage of '98. I will tell you of my trip to the vineyards. Do
not look at that man as though his appearance was anything
remarkable. You are not an habitue here, and he will take notice of
you."

As one who speaks upon the subject most interesting to him, Louis,
with the gestures and swift, nervous di