Part 80 (2/2)
”_Vous avez parfaitement raison, monsieur!_”
”I thank you,” cried Sengoun, with an admirably dramatic bow.
”Therefore, I shall now go home to bed!”
Neeland, maintaining his gravity with difficulty, followed Sengoun toward the door, still pretending to plead with him; and the _gerant_, a tall, blond, rosy and unmistakable German, stepped forward to unlock the door.
As he laid his hand on the bolt he said in a whisper:
”If the gentlemen desire the privilege of an exclusive club where everything is unquestionably conducted----”
”Where?” demanded Neeland, abruptly.
”On the third floor, _monsieur_.”
”Here?”
”Certainly, sir. If the gentlemen will honour me with their names, and will be seated for one little moment, I shall see what can be accomplished.”
”Very well,” said Sengoun, with a short, incredulous laugh. ”I'm Prince Erlik, of the Mongol Emba.s.sy, and my comrade is Mr. Neeland, Consul General of the United States of America in the Grand Duchy of Gerolstein!”
The _gerant_ smiled. After he had gone away toward the further room in the cafe, Neeland remarked to Sengoun that doubtless their real names were perfectly well known, and Sengoun disdainfully shrugged his indifference:
”What can one expect in this dirty rat-nest of Europe? Abdul the d.a.m.ned employed one hundred thousand spies in Constantinople alone!
And William the Sudden admired him. Why, Neeland, _mon ami_, I never take a step in the streets without being absolutely certain that I am watched and followed. What do I care! Except that towns make me sick.
But the only cure is a Khirgiz horse and a thousand lances. G.o.d send them. I'm sick of cities.”
A few moments later the _gerant_ returned and, in a low voice, requested them to accompany him.
They pa.s.sed leisurely through the cafe, between tables where lowered eyes seemed to deny any curiosity; but guests and waiters looked after them after they had pa.s.sed, and here and there people whispered together--particularly two men who had followed them from the sun-dial fountain in the rue Soleil d'Or to the Jardin Russe, across the Place de la Concorde, and into the Cafe des Bulgars in the rue Vilna.
On the stairs Neeland heard Sengoun still muttering to himself:
”Certainly I am sick of cities and narrow strips of sky. What I need is a thousand lances at a gallop, and a little Kirghiz horse between my knees.”
CHAPTER x.x.xII
THE CERCLE EXTRANATIONALE
The suite of rooms into which they were ushered appeared to be furnished in irreproachable taste. Except for the _salon_ at the further end of the suite, where play was in progress, the charming apartment might have been a private one; and the homelike simplicity of the room, where books, flowers, and even a big, grey cat confirmed the first agreeable impression, accented the lurking smile on Sengoun's lips.
Doc Curfoot, in evening dress, came forward to receive them, in company with another man, young, nice-looking, very straight, and with the high, square shoulders of a Prussian.
”_Bong soire, mussoors_,” said Curfoot genially. ”_J'ai l'honnoor de vous faire connaitre mong ami, Mussoor Weishelm._”
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