"You are right," he agreed. "That man is best out of the way. If he and Douaille should meet—"
"They shall not meet," Selingman thundered. "I, Selingman, declare it. We are here already. Good! The aspect of the place pleases me."
The two men, arriving so early, received the distinguished consideration of a bowing maître d'hôtel as they entered the Austria. They were ushered at once to a round table in a favourable position. Selingman surrendered his hat and coat to the obsequious vestiaire, pulled down his waistcoat with a familiar gesture, spread his pudgy hands upon the table and looked around him with a smile of benevolent approval.
"I shall amuse myself here," he declared confidently. "Pass the menu to me, Draconmeyer. You have no more idea how to eat than a rabbit. That is why you suffer from indigestion. At this hour—why, it is not midnight yet—one needs sustenance—sustenance, mark you, intelligently selected, something nourishing yet not heavy. A sheet of paper, waiter. You see, I like to write out my dishes. It saves trouble and there are no disappointments, nothing is forgotten. As to the wine, show me the vintage champagnes.... So! You need not hurry with the meal. We shall spend some time here."
Draconmeyer arrested the much impressed maître d'hôtel as he was hurrying away.
"Is there dancing here to-night?" he enquired.
"But certainly, monsieur," the man replied. "A Spanish lady, altogether ravishing, the equal of Otéro at her best—Signorina Melita."
"She dances alone?"
"By no means. There is the young Frenchman, Jean Coulois, who is engaged for the season. A wonderful pair, indeed! When May comes, they go to the music-halls in Paris and London."
Draconmeyer nodded approval.