'A little too dry for me,' Lavendale replied, placing it upon the tray and taking the full glass. 'Here's luck!'
The two men looked at one another. In Courlander's hard brown eyes, a little narrowed by his drooping eyebrows, there was an air of fierce though latent questioning. Then with an abrupt gesture he took the glass from the tray and drank off its contents.
'You'll forgive me if I hurry away,' Lavendale went on. 'We shall meet again, I dare say, before Mr. Kessner leaves.'
'Sure!' Mr. Courlander murmured, as he picked up his hat. 'I am generally to be found round about the Milan. Like to have you come and dine with me one night.'
The two men parted at the hotel entrance. Lavendale got into a taxi and drove to his rooms. As he changed his clothes, he glanced through his correspondence. There was a note from Suzanne which he read over twice:—
'Dear Friend,—
'I want to see you at once. I shall be in from seven till eight. Please call.'
Lavendale glanced at the clock, hurried with his toilet, and found himself ringing the bell at the entrance door of Suzanne's suite at half-past seven. She admitted him herself and ushered him into the little sitting-room, which had been transformed almost into a bower of deep red roses.
'Mr. Kessner,' she exclaimed, pointing around, 'with a carte de visite! You see what he says?—'"From a forgiving enemy!"'
Lavendale glanced at them with a frown upon his forehead.