“I have been deeply interested,” Selden hastened to assure him.
“I am most anxious for you to meet the king. He is not at all what people suppose him. He is—but you shall see for yourself. Ah, they never quit gambling in this place!” he added, as they passed through the door into the outer room.
The wheels were still turning without interruption. The crowd was greater than ever, but neither Davis nor Danilo was in sight. Selden suspected that they were in the inner sanctum dedicated to baccara, and he rather expected the baron to look them up. But that worthy seemed to have dismissed them from his mind.
“You shall hear from me soon,” he said, and held out his hand.
“I am going too,” said Selden, resolutely beating back the desire to stay, to get another glimpse of that clever, unusual face; and together he and the baron went down the stair and got their coats.
“I am arranging a small dinner for to-morrow evening,” said the baron suddenly, as they stood on the steps outside, waiting for his car. “If you are free, I should be very pleased to have you join us.”
“Thank you. I shall be glad to.”
“Good. I will let you know the time and place. Till to-morrow, then!” and the baron stepped into his car with a wave of the hand.
Selden stood for a moment looking after it, as it sped down the slope toward the Condamine. Then he turned the other way toward his hotel.
A strange man, the baron. More royalist than the king, more concerned for the prince than the prince was for himself, a courtier to the bone, a man who knew the secrets of every court, the skeletons in every closet.