“Vous avez parfaitement raison, monsieur!”
“I thank you,” cried Sengoun, with an admirably dramatic bow. “Therefore, I shall now go home to bed!”
Neeland, maintaining his gravity with difficulty, followed Sengoun toward the door, still pretending to plead with him; and the gérant, a tall, blond, rosy and unmistakable German, stepped forward to unlock the door.
As he laid his hand on the bolt he said in a whisper:
“If the gentlemen desire the privilege of an exclusive 356 club where everything is unquestionably conducted––”
“Where?” demanded Neeland, abruptly.
“On the third floor, monsieur.”
“Here?”
“Certainly, sir. If the gentlemen will honour me with their names, and will be seated for one little moment, I shall see what can be accomplished.”
“Very well,” said Sengoun, with a short, incredulous laugh. “I’m Prince Erlik, of the Mongol Embassy, and my comrade is Mr. Neeland, Consul General of the United States of America in the Grand Duchy of Gerolstein!”