"What is it? It is four hundred and fifty napoleons!"
"What?" sharply, even doubtfully.
"That's what! Eighteen hundred dollars, more than three hundred and sixty pounds, nearly a million centesimi, and Heaven only knows what it would be in Portuguese. My system will have no funeral to-night. Pretty fair returns for two hours' work, by George! Now, come on."
He caught Hillard by the sleeve and fairly ran him over to the café. Here he pushed him into a chair and ordered the finest vintage he could find on the card. Then he offered one of the fatal cigars and lighted one for himself.
"Nearly two thousand!" murmured Hillard. "Well, of all the luck!"
"It does seem too good to be true. And what's more, I'm going to hang on to it. No more for me; I'm through. For the first time in my life I've won something, and I am going to keep it.... I say, what's the matter with your cravat?"
Hillard looked down at the fluttering end and reknotted it carelessly.
"I saw Kitty to-night," he said.
To Merrihew it seemed that all the clatter about him had died away suddenly. He lowered his cigar and breathed deeply. "Where is she?" He rose. "Sit down. I don't know where she is. I'll explain what has happened. And this is it."
Merrihew listened eagerly, twisting his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. Once he made a gesture; it was reproachful.