“Yes,” said Maurice, “we do keep moving.”
“And every now and then one or the other of us steps out into the dark.”
“So we do.” Maurice glanced from the corner of his eye and calculated his chances in a physical contest with the Colonel. The soldier was taller and broader, but it was possible for him to make good this deficiency with quickness. But, above all, where and under what circumstances had he met this man before?
“Here we are!” cried the Colonel, presently.
He led Maurice into one of the handsome dwellings which faced the palace confines from the east. They passed up the stairs into a large room, Oriental in its appointments, and evidently the living room. The walls were hung with the paraphernalia of a soldier, together with portraits of opera singers, horses and celebrities of all classes. On the mantel Maurice saw, among other things, the glint of a revolver barrel. He thought nothing of it then. It occurred to him as singular, however, that the room was free from central obstruction. Had the Colonel expected to meet him at the archbishop's and anticipated his acceptance of a possible invitation?
Two chairs stood on either side of the grate. Between them was an octagon on which were cigars, glasses and two cognac bottles. The Colonel's valet came in and lit the tapers in the chandelier and woke up the fire.... Maurice was convinced that the Colonel had arranged the room thus for his especial benefit, and he regretted his eagerness for adventure.
“Francois,” said Beauvais, throwing his shako and pelisse on the lounge and motioning to Maurice to do likewise, “let no one disturb us.”
The valet bowed and noiselessly retired. The two men sat down without speaking. Beauvais passed the cigars. Maurice selected one, lit it, and blew rings at the Chinese mandarin which leered down at him from the mantel.
Several minutes marched into the past.
“Maurice Carewe,” said the Colonel, as one who mused.