“The Zoological Gardens?” suggested the Duke.
“That will do. In the Krassnaja Pressnja, inside the eagles’ house,” he laughed softly; “that is appropriate, eh? Eleven o’clock tomorrow, then.”
“Eleven o’clock,” De Richleau repeated.
The dancer pressed his mask more closely against his face, and swallowed his drink through the slit of the mouth, then he stood up quickly and, without another word, he left the table.
He had hardly disappeared through the back of the restaurant when the street door was flung violently open, five men pushed in — three appeared to be ordinary working men, the other two were the guides.
“Now we’re in a muddle!” Simon laughed his jerky little laugh, but the Duke was equal to the situation, and even before the guides had had time to look round the dimly lit room, he had called a boisterous greeting to them. The three workmen sat down near the door, while the guides came over to the table near the stove at once.
“Hello, my friends, come and sit down, come and drink with us!” The Duke thumped the table, and called loudly for the woman who served the drinks, seeming suddenly to have become a little drunk himself.
Simon took up the cue immediately, and tipped his chair back from the table at an almost dangerous angle, while he allowed a fatuous smile to spread over his face.
“We believe gentlemen were at Meyerhold Theatre —” began one of the guides, seriously.
“The theatre! Bah!” De Richleau shrugged. “I lost the tickets, so we came here instead — it is better!”