"I mean to say," explained Vignoles, "her father is asking——"
"What! Has uncle turned up after all?" exclaimed Lady Vignoles, and looked quickly towards the door.
Through the crowd a big red-faced man was forging, and behind him a glimpse might be had of the shrivelled shape of John Jacob Oppner.
"Hallo," grunted Rohscheimer, "here's Inspector Sheffield, from Scotland Yard!"—and apprehensively he fingered tie-pin and watch-chain, and furtively counted the rings upon his fat fingers. "What's up?"
The shrewd but not unkindly eyes of the C. I. D. man were scanning the packed rooms, over the heads of the crowd—keenly, suspiciously. With a brief nod he passed the group, and pressed on his way. Mr. Oppner halted.
"What's the trouble, Oppner?" inquired Rohscheimer thickly. "Is there a thief here or something?"
"Worse!" drawled the other. "Séverac Bablon's here!"
"Oh, Lord!" groaned Rohscheimer, and surreptitiously slipped all his rings off and into his trousers pocket. "Let's get out before we're all held up!"
"He don't figure on a hold-up," replied Oppner; "it ain't a strong line at a matinee. A hop-parade is the time for the crystals. We don't know what he's layin' for, but it's a cinch he's here."
"How do you know?" asked a brother officer of Haredale's, who had joined the group.