"She married a French violin player, Roland Lorraine by name, but they were separated, that's all I know," replied Wallion, getting up from his seat and yawning. "Are you coming in?"
"No," said Tom, throwing himself on the sofa, "as our fellow travelers prefer to remain invisible I can worry here as well as anywhere else."
But when Wallion opened the door to go out, Tom remembered a question he wanted to ask him.
"Why do you wish to see Ferail run, as you said yesterday at dinner?"
Wallion turned back. "Wouldn't it be rather amusing to see an antiquary run?" he answered quite seriously.
Tom winked and threw up his hands. "Get out," he said. "I feel my brain reeling.... God knows what sort of a nightmare I shall have to-night."
The giant liner pursued its appointed way over the ocean; showers of feathery foam played round the bows and all lights were on. From the depths below, between decks, the wind wafted aloft echos of cheerful dance music. A fresh breeze had sprung up and there was no one on deck. Evidently they were enjoying themselves on board.
For the last hour and more, Maurice Wallion had been pacing up and down, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. Now that he was alone his clear cut features looked grave and perplexed; he had been turning the problem over in his mind, and he had just realized that he could acquire full and irrefutable information on one important detail whenever he felt inclined to do so. He had never found himself in such a peculiar situation; but with a sudden, resolute gesture, he flung the end of his cigar into the water; and as it disappeared in the dark like a shooting star, he muttered to himself: "Yes, I'll do it."
He went down to the promenade deck, and a minute later appeared calm and unperturbed in the smoking-room, which was crowded and blue with smoke. In a corner to the left of the bar, he perceived an Assyrian profile which made him screw up his eyes. It was Ricardo Ferail having a game of poker with three other men. Wallion who, as a rule, recognized every other or every third person he came across in the four quarters of the globe, earnestly scanned Ferail's partners, and found that he knew one of them well. Here was luck. He advanced, and gave the man in question a tap on the shoulder, saying:
"Evening, Mr. Derringer! It's a long time since that night at Johannesburg."