Peter Ruff shrugged his shoulders.
“Well,” he said, thoughtfully, “I suppose I shall get used to it.”
“Naturally,” Sogrange answered. “For the moment, we are passing through a quiet time, necessitated by the mortal illness of Madame. You will be able to spend the next few weeks in getting used to your new position. You will have a great many callers, inspired by us, who will see that you make the right acquaintances and that you join the right clubs. At the same time, let me warn you always to be ready. There is trouble brewing just now all over Europe. In one way or another, we may become involved at any moment. The whole machinery of our society will be explained to you by your secretary. You will find him already installed at Porchester House. A glass of wine, Baron, before you leave.”
Peter Ruff glanced at the clock.
“There are my things to pack,” he began—
Sogrange smiled.
“Your valet is already on the front seat of the automobile which is waiting,” he remarked. “You will find him attentive and trustworthy. The clothes which you brought with you we have taken the liberty of dispensing with. You will find others in your trunk, and at Porchester House you can send for any tailor you choose. One toast, Baron. We drink to the Double-Four—to the great cause!”
There was a murmur of voices. Sogrange lifted once more his glass.
“May Peter Ruff rest in peace!” he said. “We drink to his ashes. We drink long life and prosperity to the Baron de Grost!”