From somewhere the Chinese, Wong, had glided forth and, drawing out a chair, indicated Ross’s place at the table. Immediately he had filled the glasses with a sparkling liquid. Ross recognized it as champagne.
There was no chance to reply. In fact, Ross was too bewildered to think of anything adequate to say. In a moment he would be himself again, but just now his wits were all at cross purposes.
As the elderly man greeted Ross, the girl and younger man took their places at the table as if they had only been waiting his arrival to proceed with the meal. As Ross stepped forward, at the servant’s indication, his host reached out and lifted the wine glass at his plate.
“We will drink to the health of our guest,” he said evenly.
Automatically, Ross lifted his glass. The others did likewise. For an instant the four glasses were held aloft, the lights playing on their sparkling depths. Then the elderly man turned to Ross with a rather elaborate low bow and said in a voice that was like gray steel:
“Mr. Waring, allow us to drink to your most excellent good health——for tomorrow you hang!”
The words were like an icy blast. Up to that moment the whole affair had been rather ludicrous to Ross. He had realized that he was in danger at times, but that this danger would involve the loss of his life he had not for a moment imagined.
Now he realized that his very life was at stake; more than that, unless he could find some way to extract himself from his predicament, that he was sure to forfeit it. There could be no denying the import of the toast. Ross did not know why, but he did know that this tall, lean stranger with the mad eyes meant to kill him as sure as he stood there.
For a moment, the young New Yorker lost his complacency. He stood with the glass poised in his hand, his brain whirling. But this was only for a moment. In a second he had regained his poise. Raising the glass to his lips, he drained it to the bottom and turned to his host.
“Thank you, sir,” he said carelessly, “for your kind wishes for my good health. I hate to dispute you, but I don’t believe you will hang me in the morning. And my name is not Waring, either. It happens to be Ross.”