"As to that—yes! I have an idea—but I can only repeat that I'll say no more."
"I hope Hague is all right," growled Rohscheimer. "He's got some good rough stuff on him to-night. Brought it over to show me. I didn't like that red line under his name. Looked as if he was sort of number one on the list!"
"That's how it struck me. By the way, what became of the card?"
"Don't know," was the reply. "Push that bell. I want a whisky and soda."
Jesson pressed the bell, and Rohscheimer, tossing the stump into the grate, dipped two fat fingers into his waistcoat pocket in quest of a new cigar. It was his custom to carry two or three stuck therein.
"Hallo!"
Jesson turned to him—and saw that he held a card in his hand.
"Have you got the card?"
"Yes," said Rohscheimer, and turned it over.
Whereupon his face changed colour, and became an unclean grey.