She was gone. And with her going a sense of loneliness at once stole in on McLagan. He desired her for himself. He desired Claire Carver above all things in the world. He could cheerfully have driven the crowd about her table headlong. But that was the feeling that was his at all times at the sight of the men who gathered about her. However, he had come there with a resolve from which he would not deviate, and, in accordance with that which lay at the back of his mind, he had dismissed her to the game which he knew was her passionate delight.
Victor Burns had just passed the curtained archway, and hard on his heels was a newcomer who at once claimed all McLagan’s interest. For a moment he observed the man while the banker strolled leisurely over towards him. He was a broad, powerful creature in dark clothes, with a pea-jacket tightly buttoned over his chest. His face was clean-shaven and dark, but his eyes were of the palest hue of blue, and as expressionless as those of a dead codfish. It was his eyes that interested McLagan most, and Burns came up almost before he was aware of it.
Burns laughed.
“Hello, Mac, where are the boys? Busy? You seem to be having all sorts of a time to yourself. I’ll hail a flunkey an’ collect a cocktail.”
McLagan edged round towards the empty chair which the banker took possession of.
“Nothing for me, Victor,” he said brusquely. “Jubilee’s in the game there, and the Doc’s oozed off to get a look at the dames in the dance room. Abe’s passed back to his own booth, and young Burt Riddell’s sitting in where his game can’t butt in on his partner’s.” He laughed. “We’re outside it all, eh?”
“I surely am,” the banker admitted promptly as he surveyed the crowd. “You can’t run a bank and play big money at the Speedway. Say——”
He broke off as he caught sight of the man with the pale blue eyes thrusting his way unceremoniously through the crowd about Claire’s table. McLagan followed the direction of his gaze.
“Who’s that tough-looking guy?” he asked quickly.