'It isn't on your account,' Sarrasin answered, a little bluntly.
'No? Well, I am glad to hear that. On whose account, then, may I ask?'
'On account of Gloria,' Sarrasin answered decisively. 'If Hamilton here is killed, or I am killed, it does not matter a straw so far as Gloria is concerned. But if you got killed, who, I want to know, is to go out to Gloria? Gloria would not rise for Hamilton or me.'
The Dictator could say nothing. He could only clasp in silence the hand of either man.
'They are putting out the lights downstairs,' Sarrasin said in a low tone. 'I had better get to my lair.'
'Have you got a revolver?' Hamilton asked.
'Never go without one, dear boy.' Then Sarrasin stole away with the noiseless tread of the Red Indian, whose comrade and whose enemy he had been so often.
Hamilton closed his door, but did not fasten it. The electric light still burned softly there.
'Will you smoke?' Hamilton asked. 'I smoke here every night, and Sarrasin too, mostly. It won't arouse any suspicion if the smoke gets about the corridor. I am often up much later than this. You need not answer, and then your voice can't be heard. Just take a cigar.'
The Dictator quietly nodded, and took two cigars, which he selected very carefully, and began to smoke.