There was a faint perfume in the air of the room; and now Hague saw that the man who sat so attentively watching him was smoking a yellow-wrapped cigarette. His brain grew clearer. Memory began to return; and he knew that he was not dreaming. Frantically he thrust his hand into the inside breast pocket.
"Do not trouble yourself, Baron," the speaker's voice was low and musical; "the packet of diamonds lies here!"
And as he spoke the man at the table held up the missing packet.
Hague started forward, fists clenched.
"You have robbed me! Gott! you shall be sorry for this! Who the devil are you, eh?"
"Sit down, Baron," was the reply. "I am Séverac Bablon!"
Baron Hague paused, in the centre of the room, staring, with a sort of madness, at this notorious free-booter—this suave, devilishly handsome enemy of Capital.
Then he turned and leapt to the door. It was locked. He faced about. Séverac Bablon smoked.
"Sit down, Baron," he reiterated.
The head of the great Berlin banking house looked about for a weapon. None offered. The big, carven, chair was too heavy to wield. With his fingers twitching, he approached again, closer to the table.