The Lost Ambassador | Page 9

air, there was all the time going
on around us a cheerful murmur of conversation, the popping of corks,
the laughter of women, the hurrying to and fro of waiters,--all the
pleasant disturbance of an ordinary restaurant at the most festive hour
of the night. But there came, just at this moment, a curious interruption,
an interruption curious not only on its own account, but on account of
the effect which it produced. From somewhere in the centre of the room
there commenced ringing, softly at first, and afterwards with a greater
volume, a gong, something like the siren of a motor-car, but much
softer and more musical. Instantly a dead silence seemed to fall upon
the place. Conversation was broken off, laughter was checked, even the
waiters stood still in their places. The eyes of every one seemed turned
towards the door. One or two of the men rose, and in the faces of these
was manifest a sudden expression in which was present more or less of
absolute terror. Bartot for a moment shrank back in his chair as though
he had been struck, only to recover himself the next second; and the
lady with the turquoises bent over and whispered in his ear. One person
only left his place,--a young man who had been sitting at a table at the
other end of the room with one of the gayest parties. At the very first
note of alarm he had sprung to his feet. A few seconds later, with swift,
silent movements and face as pale as a ghost, he had vanished into the
little service room from which the waiters issued and returned. With his
disappearance the curious spell which seemed to have fallen upon these
other people passed away. The waiters resumed their tasks. The room
was once more hilariously gay. Upon the threshold a newcomer was
standing, a tall man in correct morning dress, with a short gray beard

and a tiny red ribbon in his button-hole. He stood there smiling
slightly--an unobtrusive entrance, such as might have befitted any
habitue of the place. Yet all the time his eyes were travelling restlessly
up and down the room. As he stood there, one could fancy there was
not a face into which he did not look during those few minutes.
CHAPTER IV
DANGEROUS PLAY
I leaned towards Louis, but he anticipated my question. His hand had
caught my wrist and was pinning it down to the table.
"Wait!" he muttered--"wait! You perceive that we are drinking wine of
the vintage of '98. I will tell you of my trip to the vineyards. Do not
look at that man as though his appearance was anything remarkable.
You are not an habitue here, and he will take notice of you."
As one who speaks upon the subject most interesting to him, Louis,
with the gestures and swift, nervous diction of his race, talked to me of
the vineyards and the cellars of the famous champagne house whose
wine we were drinking. I did my best to listen intelligently, but every
moment I found my eyes straying towards this new arrival, now deep in
apparently pleasant conversation with Monsieur Carvin.
The newcomer had the air of one who has looked in to smile around at
his acquaintances and pass on. He accepted a cigarette from Carvin, but
he did not sit down, and I saw him smile a polite refusal as a small
table was pointed out to him. He strolled a little into the place and he
bowed pleasantly to several with whom he seemed to be acquainted,
amongst whom was the man Bartot. He waved his hand to others
further down the room. His circle of acquaintances, indeed, seemed
unlimited. Then, with a long hand-shake and some parting jest, he took
leave of Monsieur Carvin and disappeared. Somehow or other one
seemed to feel the breath of relief which went shivering through the
room as he departed. Louis answered then my unspoken question.
"That," he said, "is a very great man. His name is Monsieur Myers."

"The head of the police!" I exclaimed.
Louis nodded.
"The most famous," he said, "whom France has ever possessed,
Monsieur Myers is absolutely marvellous," he declared. "The man has
genius,--genius as well as executive ability. It is a terrible war that goes
on between him and the haute ecole of crime in this country."
"Tell me, Louis," I asked, "is Monsieur Myers' visit here to-night
professional?"
"Monsieur has observation," Louis answered. "Why not?"
"You mean," I asked, "that there are criminals--people under
suspicion--"
"I mean," Louis interrupted, "that in this room, at the present moment,
are some of the most famous criminals in the world."
A question half framed died away upon my lips. Louis, however,
divined it.
"You were about