Whereupon Sam retorted, "Not to-night," in a way to close the conversation.
As soon as the man had left I rushed in upon Sam without ceremony. He was still sitting at the table smoking, and received me with a look of mingled amusement and anxiety.
"How did the comedy strike you?" he asked.
I attempted a shrug which failed before his imperturbable nonchalance.
"How did it strike you?" he persisted.
"As cleverly carried out, but not so cleverly that the fellow will not suspect it to be a comedy."
"Oh, well! So long as he does not associate the right name with those four initials we are safe. And he won't; I know Yox well enough for that."
"Then you know him for a fool. Louis Gracieux! Who is Louis Gracieux? Besides, the phial—why, the whole town is talking about a phial——"
"I know, but not about a match-box that is worth another hundred dollars to the man holding it. Yox isn't a member of the regular police; he's in business for himself, which means he's in it for what he can make. Now, he knows—or, rather, I flatter myself that I have made him see—that there is more to be got out of this matter by circumspection and a close tongue than by bragging of his good luck and giving every ass about him a chance to chew upon those letters. Oh, he'll keep quiet now, for a week or two at least. After that I cannot promise."
"Do you think his version of this affair reliable?"