[CHAPTER XXXVIII.]
MAITRANK STRIKES.
Meanwhile the brilliant society season was drawing to a close. Few smart functions remained, but there would be no more dashing affair than the forthcoming ball at Lytton Avenue. The supper was coming from Paris, the decorations were unique, the flowers were to cost upwards of a thousand pounds. The society papers had more or less veracious paragraphs, a score of lady journalists were making copy of the affair.
Thus Maitrank chuckled over his invitation. He was going to take his vengeance for the trick played on him in his own good time. He had purposely kept out of the way of the Countess. He set the cables in motion, and after a due response or two he was closeted with the head of a smart firm of lawyers in Ely Place.
"You are quite sure of my position?" he croaked.
"Quite, sir," the lawyer responded. "According to the papers drawn up at the time, you can take possession and demand your money at any moment. You are in the same position as a landlord distraining for rent. If you want us to act----"
"I do," Maitrank snapped. "I wish you to act at eleven o'clock tomorrow night. No need to stare at me like that, sir. I know what I am doing. And I am prepared to pay you handsomely for your services."
The lawyer bowed his strange client out. He had only to obey instructions. He went back to his desk pondering on the sensation that society was going to get shortly. Maitrank went straight away to Lawrence.
"I have done what you asked," he said curtly. "You are a wonderful man, you novelist; see you at our dear friend the Countess's tomorrow. Good night."