nyard was favoured with even less attention; an error in
judgment which enabled him to remark that Dupont was in an ugly temper,
sullen and snappy, it might be because of a disappointment of some
sort, possibly in consequence of the liberal potations indicated by the
tall stack of little saucers at his elbow. As for the lesser villain,
he was already silly with drink.

One would have been glad of a chance to eavesdrop again upon those two;
but there was no vacant place within earshot of their table. Besides
Lanyard wanted his dinner. So he re-entered the hotel and sought its
restaurant, where the untiring Long Arm of Coincidence took him by the
hand and led him to a table immediately adjoining one occupied
exclusively by Monsieur le Comte de Lorgnes.

And this one in turn looked Lanyard up and down but, detecting in him
not the remotest flavour of reminiscence, returned divided attention to
a soup and the door of the restaurant, which he was watching just as
closely and impatiently as Dupont, outside, was watching the main
entrance, and apparently with as little reward for his pains.

But now, Lanyard told himself, one knew what had dragged Dupont in such
hot haste to Lyons. Somehow word had reached him, probably by
telegraph, that monsieur le comte was waiting there to keep a
rendezvous. And if you asked him, Lanyard would confess his firm
conviction that the other party to the rendezvous would prove to be the
person (or persons) who had effected the burglary at Chateau de
Montalais.

So he settled to keep an eye on monsieur le comte, and promised himself
an interesting evening.

But as time passed it became evident that there had been a hitch
somewhere; de Lorgnes was only human, he couldn't rendezvous all by
himself alone, and nobody turned up to help him out. He was fretting
when Lanyard first saw him; before his dinner was half served his nerve
was giving way. Continually his distracted gaze sought the door only to
turn back in disappointment to his plate. Everlastingly he consulted
his watch. His appetite failed, the hand that too often carried a glass
to his lips shook so that drops of wine spattered the cloth like blood;
he could not even keep a cigarette alive, but burned more matches than
tobacco. A heavy sweat bedewed his forehead; the ruddy colour of that
plump countenance grew sadly faded, the good-natured features drawn and
pinched with worry. By nine o'clock the man was hag-ridden by fear of
the unk