"Right-oh!" said Rohscheimer. "I'll give him a ring."
Upstairs Sir Leopold Jesson was waiting for a quiet talk with Rohscheimer.
"Come into the library," said the latter. "Adeler's finished, so there's no one to interrupt us."
The pair entered the luxuriously appointed library, with its rows of morocco-bound, unopened works. Jesson stood before the fire looking down at Rohscheimer, who had spread himself inelegantly in a deep arm-chair, and lay back puffing at the stump of a cigar.
"I distrust Sheard!" snapped Jesson suddenly.
"Eh," grunted the other. "Pull yourself together! It ain't likely that a man who gets his livin', you might say, by keepin' in with the right people" (he glanced down at his diamond studs) "is goin' to be mixed up with a brigand like Bablon!"
"I'm not so sure!" persisted Jesson. "My position is a peculiar one; but I'll go so far as to say that I don't trust him, and I won't go a step farther. I don't expect you," he added, "to quote my opinion to anybody."
"I shan't," said Rohscheimer. "It's too damn silly! What would he have to gain? He ain't one of us."
"I'll say no more!" declared Jesson. "But keep your eyes open!"
"I'll do that!" Rohscheimer assured him. "I suppose you haven't any idea who worked the card trick?"