ction of his race, talked to me
of the vineyards and the cellars of the famous champagne house whose
wine we were drinking. I did my best to listen intelligently, but
every moment I found my eyes straying towards this new arrival, now
deep in apparently pleasant conversation with Monsieur Carvin.

The newcomer had the air of one who has looked in to smile around at
his acquaintances and pass on. He accepted a cigarette from Carvin,
but he did not sit down, and I saw him smile a polite refusal as a
small table was pointed out to him. He strolled a little into the
place and he bowed pleasantly to several with whom he seemed to be
acquainted, amongst whom was the man Bartot. He waved his hand to
others further down the room. His circle of acquaintances, indeed,
seemed unlimited. Then, with a long hand-shake and some parting jest,
he took leave of Monsieur Carvin and disappeared. Somehow or other one
seemed to feel the breath of relief which went shivering through the
room as he departed. Louis answered then my unspoken question.

"That," he said, "is a very great man. His name is Monsieur Myers."

"The head of the police!" I exclaimed.

Louis nodded.

"The most famous," he said, "whom France has ever possessed, Monsieur
Myers is absolutely marvellous," he declared. "The man has
genius,--genius as well as executive ability. It is a terrible war
that goes on between him and the _haute ecole_ of crime in this
country."

"Tell me, Louis," I asked, "is Monsieur Myers' visit here to-night
professional?"

"Monsieur has observation," Louis answered. "Why not?"

"You mean," I asked, "that there are criminals--people under
suspicion--"

"I mean," Louis interrupted, "that in this room, at the present
moment, are some of the most famous criminals in the world."

A question half framed died away upon my lips. Louis, however, divined
it.

"You were about to ask," he said, "how I obtained my entry
here. Monsieur, one had better not ask. It is one thing to be a
thief. It is quite another to see something of the wonderful life
which those live who are at war with society."

I looked around the room once more. Again I realized the difference
between this gathering of well-dressed men and women and any similar
gathering which I had seen in Paris. The faces of all somehow lacked
that tiredness of expression which seems to be the heritage of those
who drink the cup of pleasure without spice, simply because the hand
of Fate pre