"So it appears you succeeded!" he chaffed his conductor good-humouredly.
"I have brought you the mountain," De Morbihan assented.
"One is grateful for small miracles…."
But De Morbihan wouldn't laugh at his own expense; for a moment, indeed, he seemed inclined to take umbrage at Lanyard's levity. But the sudden squaring of his broad shoulders and the hardening of his features was quickly modified by an uneasy sidelong glance at his companion. And then they were at the door of the cabinet particulier.
De Morbihan rapped, turned the knob, and stood aside, bowing politely.
With a nod acknowledging the courtesy, Lanyard consented to precede him, and entered a room of intimate proportions, furnished chiefly with a green-covered card-table and five easy-chairs, of which three were occupied—two by men in evening dress, the third by one in a well-tailored lounge suit of dark grey.
Now all three men wore visors of black velvet.
Lanyard looked from one to the other and chuckled quietly.
With an aggrieved air De Morbihan launched into introductions:
"Messieurs, I have the honour to present to you our confrère, Monsieur Lanyard, best known as 'The Lone Wolf.' Monsieur Lanyard—the Council of our Association, known to you as 'The Pack.'"