"Now, if there's anything I can do for you boys," he said, "here's your chance to make use of me. Though I say it myself, there ain't a man in New York with my experience, tact and finesse. Show me a job that can be done single-handed, with a dividend at the end of it, and I'll show you a man who can take it on. In the meantime," said he affably, "the drinks are on me. Call the waiter, and order the best in the house."
Serganoff held up his hand.
"Wait," he said; "was that the door?"
Nicholas nodded, and the whole room stood in silence and watched the door slowly open. There was a gasp of astonishment, of genuine surprise, for Irene Yaroslav was well known to them, and it was Irene Yaroslav who stood with her back to the door. She wore a long black cloak of sable and by her coiffure it was evident that she was wearing an evening toilette beneath the cloak.
"Where is Israel Kensky?" she asked.
She did not immediately see the man in the masked face, for he sat under a light and his broad-brimmed hat threw his face into shadow.
Nobody answered her, and she asked again:
"Where is Israel Kensky?"
"He is not here," said Serganoff coolly, as she took two paces and stopped dead, clasping her hands before her.
"What does this mean?" she asked. "What are you doing here, Ser——"