As soon as I could speak--

"You wicked, forward child," I said. "You----"

"Toodle-oo," said Susan. "Don't be late."

Somewhat dazedly I turned in the direction of the _salle de danse_--so dazedly, in fact, that I collided with a young Frenchman who was watching the progress of _le jeu de boule_. This was hardly exhilarating. Of the seven beings gathered about the table, six were croupiers and the seventh was reading _Le Temps_.

I collided roughly enough to knock a cigarette out of my victim's hand.

"Toodle-oo--I mean _pardon, Monsieur. Je vous demande pardon._"

"It's quite all right," he said, smiling. "I shouldn't have been standing so far out."

I drew a case from my pocket.

"At least," I said, "you'll allow me to replace the cigarette"--he took one with a laugh--"and to congratulate you upon your beautiful English."

"Thank you very much. For all that, you knew I was French."

"In another minute," said I, "I shall be uncertain. And I'm sure you'd deceive a Frenchman every time."

"I do frequently. It amuses me to death. Only the other day I had to produce my pa.s.sport to a merchant at Lyons before he'd believe I was a foreigner."

"A foreigner?" I cried, with bulging eyes. "Then you are English."

"I'm a pure-bred Spaniard," was the reply. "I tell you, it's most diverting. Talk about ringing the changes. I had a great time during the War. I was a perfect mine of information. It wasn't strictly accurate, but Germany didn't know that. As a double-dyed traitor, they found me extremely useful. As a desirable neutral, I cut a great deal of ice. And now I'm loafing. I used to take an interest in the prevention of crime, but I've grown lazy."

For a moment or two we stood talking. Then I asked him to come to our table in the dancing-room. He declined gracefully.

"I'm Spanish enough to dislike Jazz music," he said.

We agreed to meet at the Club on the following day, and I rejoined Berry to tell him what he had missed.

I found the fifth dance in full swing and my brother-in-law in high dudgeon.

As I sat down, he exploded.

"This blasted breath-bag is a fraud. If you blow it up tight, it's like trying to sit on a barrel. If you fill it half full, you mustn't move a muscle, or the imprisoned air keeps shifting all over the place till one feels sick of one's stomach. In either case it's as hard as petrified bog-oak. If you only leave an imperial pint in the vessel, it all goes and gathers in one corner, thus conveying to one the impression that one is sitting one's self upon a naked chair with a tennis-ball in one's hip-pocket. If one puts the swine behind one, it shoves one off the seat altogether. It was during the second phase that one dropped or let fall one's cigar into one's champagne. One hadn't thought that anything could have spoiled either, but one was wrong."

I did what I could to soothe him, but without avail.

"I warn you," he continued, "there's worse to come. Misfortunes hunt in threes. First we fool and are fooled over that rotten villa. Now this balloon lets me down. You wait."

I decided that to argue that the failure of the air-cushion could hardly be reckoned a calamity would be almost as provocative as to suggest that the immersion of the cigar should rank as the third disaster, so I moistened the lips and ill.u.s.trated an indictment of our present system of education by a report of my encounter with Susan.

Berry heard me in silence, and then desired me to try the chairs at the Chateau, and, if they were favouring repose, to inquire whether the place would be let furnished. Stifling an inclination to a.s.sault him, I laughed pleasantly and related my meeting with the engaging Spaniard.

When I had finished--

"How much did you lend him?" inquired my brother-in-law. "Or is a pal of his taking care of your watch?"

The fox-trot came to an end, and I rose to my feet.

"The average weight," I said, "of the spleen is, I believe, six ounces.

But spleens have been taken weighing twenty pounds."

"Net or rod?" said Berry.

"Now you see," I continued, "why you're so heavy on the chairs."

With that, I sought my wife and led her away to watch the Baccarat....

Before we had been in the gaming room for twenty seconds, Adele caught me by the arm.

"D'you see that man over there, Boy? With a bangle on his wrist?"

"And a shirt behind his diamond? I do."

"That's one of the men I saw in the Villa Buichi."

"The devil it is," said I. "Then I take it he's the new lessee. Well, well. He'll go well with the ballroom, won't he?"

It was a gross-looking fellow, well-groomed and oily. His fat hands were manicured and he was overdressed. He gave the impression that money was no longer an object. As if to corroborate this, he had been winning heavily. I decided that he was a bookmaker.

While I was staring, Adele moved to speak with a friend.

"And who," said a quiet voice, "is attracting such faithful attention?"

It was the Spaniard.

"You see that fat cove?" I whispered. "He did us out of a house to-day. Overbid us, you know."

My companion smiled.

"No worse than that?" he murmured. "You must count yourselves lucky."

I raised my eyebrows.

"You know him?"

The other nodded.

"Not personally, of course," he said. Then: "I think he's retired now."

"What was he?" said I.

"The biggest receiver in France."