progress. There did not seem to be many people there. At a small table
he recognised Brandes and Stull playing what appeared to be bridge
whist with two men whom he had never before seen. There were no women
playing.

As he watched the round, expressionless face of Brandes, who was
puffing a long cigar screwed tightly into the corner of his
thin-lipped mouth, it occurred to him somewhat tardily what Rue Carew
had said concerning personal danger to himself if any of these people
believed him capable of reconstructing from memory any of the stolen
plans.

He had not thought about that specific contingency; instinct alone had
troubled him a little when he first entered the Cafe des Bulgars.

However, his unquiet eyes could discover nothing of either Kestner or
Breslau; and, somehow, he did not even think of encountering Ilse
Dumont in such a place. As for Brandes and Stull, they did not
recognise him at all.

So, entirely reassured once more by the absence of Ali-Baba and Golden
Beard, and of Scheherazade whom he had no fear of meeting, Neeland ate
his caviar with a relish and examined his surroundings.

Of course it was perfectly possible that the stolen papers had been
brought here. There were three other floors in the building, too, and
he wondered what they were used for.

Sengoun's appetite for conflict waned as he ate and drank; and a
violent desire to gamble replaced it.

"You poke about a bit," he said to Neeland. "Talk to that girl over
there and see what you can learn. As for me, I mean to start a little
flirtation with Mademoiselle Fortuna. Does that suit you?"

If Sengoun wished to play it was none of Neeland's business.

"Do you think it an honest game?" he asked, doubtfully.

"With negligible stakes all first-class gamblers are honest."

"If I were you, Sengoun, I wouldn't drink anything more."

"Excellent advice, old fellow!" emptying his goblet with satisfaction.
And, rising to his firm and graceful height, he strolled away toward
the _salon_ where play progressed amid the most decorous and edifying
of atmospheres.

Neeland watched him disappear, then he glanced curiously at the girl
on the sofa who was still preoccupied with her newspaper.

So he rose, sauntered about the room examining the few pictures and
bronzes, modern but excellent. The carpet under foot was thick and
soft, but, as he strolled past the girl who seemed to be so intently
reading, she looked up over her paper and return