“Right, old fellow—always right! You know, Neeland, this friendship of ours is the most precious, most delightful, and most inspiring experience of my life. Here’s a full goblet to our friendship! Hurrah! As for Enver Pasha, may Erlik seize him!”
After they had honoured the toast, Sengoun looked 351 about him pleasantly, receptive, ready for any eventuality. And observing no symptoms of any eventuality whatever, he suggested creating one.
“Dear comrade,” he said, “I think I shall arise and make an incendiary address––”
“No!”
“Very well, if you feel that way about it. But there is another way to render the evening agreeable. You see that sideboard?” he continued, pointing to a huge carved buffet piled to the ceiling with porcelain and crystal. “What will you wager that I can not push it over with one hand?”
But Neeland declined the wager with an impatient gesture, and kept his eyes riveted on a man who had just entered the café. He could see only the stranger’s well-groomed back, but when, a moment later, the man turned to seat himself, Neeland was not surprised to find himself looking at Doc Curfoot.
“Sengoun,” he said under his breath, “that type who just came in is an American gambler named Doc Curfoot; and he is here with other gamblers for the purpose of obtaining political information for some government other than my own.”
Sengoun regarded the new arrival with amiable curiosity:
“That worm? Oh, well, every city in Europe swarms with such maggots, you know. It would be quite funny if he tries any blandishments on us, wouldn’t it?”
“He may. He’s a capper. He’s looking at us now. I believe he remembers having seen me in the train.”