CHAPTER XV.
THE SPY.
And now we are in Mr. Kecskerey's quarters again. It would be a great mistake on our part to leave him out of sight. An individual like him, once seen, may not be forgotten. He was now living at Pest, where he had elegant chambers and all his old renown, carrying on his old business of amalgamating the various elements of society.
It was still early, and the worthy man was not yet half dressed. When I say not yet half dressed, I mean the expression to be taken in the literal sense of the word. He was sitting in the middle of the room on a rich purple ottoman, enfolded in a red burnous, sucking away at a huge chibook, puffing smoke all round him, and contemplating himself in a large mirror exactly opposite to him. At the opposite end of the ottoman sat a huge orang-outang of about his own size, in a similarly charming position, wrapped in a similar burnous, also smoking a chibook, and regarding himself in the mirror.
Scattered all about were heaps of scented billet-doux, verses, musical notes, and other perishable articles of the same sort. Round about the walls hung all kinds of select pictures, which would certainly have been very much ashamed if they could have seen each other. On the table, in a vase
of genuine Herculanean bronze, were the visiting-cards of a number of notable men and women of the smartest set. The carpets were all woven by delicate feminine hands, and bore the figures of dogs, horses, and huntsmen. The tapestried walls revealed the presence of small hidden doors, and the windows were covered by double curtains close drawn.
In the antechamber outside, a small negro groom was scratching his ear for sheer ennui. He had orders not to admit any gentleman visitor till after twelve o'clock, from which he drew the temerarious conclusion that he was free to admit ladies up to that hour.
Despite this prohibition, however, it chanced that Jussuf, in reply to a determined pull at the bell, did admit a gentleman; and Mr. Kecskerey heard the nigger lad talking in his Kaffir tongue to the new arrival, and was furious with him in consequence.
"Who is it, Jussuf?" cried Mr. Kecskerey, in such a sharp voice that the baboon on the sofa behind his back began to hiss for fright.
By way of answer the new arrival himself rushed through the door. "These privileged friends of mine are vastly impertinent," murmured Mr. Kecskerey to himself, as he perceived the intruder in the doorway; and it seemed to give him great satisfaction when the visitor fell back at the sight of his peculiar costume. But a moment later he recognized who it was, and, with a determined effort at gaiety, exclaimed, stretching out his long dry hand towards him—