“And now, monsieur,” cried the clerk, “we shall see what we shall see.”
The missive was addressed to the mysterious Sydney H. Corbett, and had been forwarded by the Sloane Square Post-Office.
With a clang the door of the lift swung open and Mensmore hastened out. Bruce had to decide instantly between the chance of seeing Corbett with his own eyes and pursuing the fanciful errand he had mapped out in imagination with reference to the stranger who so interested him.
“Thank you,” he said to the clerk. “I am going to the Casino for an hour; you will greatly oblige me by keeping a sharp lookout for any one who claims the letter.”
“Monsieur, it shall have my utmost regard.”
The barrister had not erred in his surmise as to Mensmore’s destination. The young man walked straight across the square and entered the grounds of the famous Casino.
Indoors, an excellent band was playing a selection from “The Geisha.” The spacious foyer was fast filling with a fashionable throng; without, the silver radiance of the moon, lighting up gardens, rocks, buildings, and sea, might well have added the last link to the pleasant bondage that would keep any one from the gambling saloon that night; but Mensmore heeded none of these things.
He passed the barrier, closely followed by Bruce, crossed the foyer, and disappeared through the baize doors that guard the magnificent room in which roulette is played.
Round several of the tables a fairly considerable crowd had gathered already. The more, the merrier, is the rule of the Casino. There is something curiously fascinating for the gambler in the presence of others. It would seem to be an almost ridiculous thing for a man to stalk solemnly up to a deserted board and stake his money on the chances of the game merely for the edification of the officials in charge.
Bruce entered the room soon after Mensmore, and saw the latter elbowing his way to a seat about to be vacated by a stout Spanish lady, who had rapidly lost the sum she allowed herself to stake each day.