Part 20 (1/2)

”M. le croupier?” the voice queried.

He turned sharp about. The Frenchman stood there with his hat raised, a gentleman to the finger-tips. Involuntarily Dirke lifted his own hat, and lifted it after the manner of a gentleman. The manner was not lost upon the Frenchman.

”Monsieur,” said the latter, courteously; ”I had the misfortune to lose a ring this evening. I shall redeem it on the morrow, when I can command my resources.”

The ”boss” looked him full in the face. They could not distinguish one another's features in the starlight, yet the two personalities were as plainly in evidence as could have been the case in the broad light of day.

”No, you won't!” Dirke retorted, coolly, planting his hat firmly on his head again. He was angry with himself for having removed it.

”May I ask Monsieur why not?”

”Because the ring is sold!”

The Frenchman started visibly.

”And the purchaser? Would you have the courtesy to indicate to me the purchaser?”

”No!”

The rudely spoken monosyllable put an abrupt period to the conversation.

Dirke pa.s.sed down the steps and along the deserted street. As he paced the length of the board sidewalk, which helped itself over the ups and downs of the ungraded thoroughfare by means of short, erratic flights of steps at certain points, he distinctly heard footsteps following. They sounded plainly on the plank walk, and he did not for a moment doubt whose they were. His hands were in his coat-pockets. On the little finger of his left hand was the ring.

He paused, opposite the brightly lighted windows of the last saloon in the row. The town ended there, the street lapsing into a rough and trackless barren. Here he waited for the Frenchman to come up with him.

He watched his progress with a curious interest, noting how the figure was at one moment lost in the shadow, only to emerge, the next instant, into the full light that streamed from some nocturnal haunt. As he came up with Dirke, the electric light over the entrance to the saloon shone full upon them both.

Dirke waited for him to speak. Again he raised his hat, but this time Dirke was on his guard and was not to be betrayed into any concession to courtesy. There was a slight shrug of the shoulders as the Frenchman replaced his hat. He spoke, however, in a conciliatory tone:

”It is a fine evening,” he observed. ”I have followed your example. I go for a walk.”

”You have followed me, you mean,” said Dirke, bluntly. ”I heard you behind me.”

Then, moved by a sudden impulse to precipitate matters, he drew his left hand from his pocket. The diamonds flashed in the light.

M. de Lys's eyes flashed in response. With all his unabated elegance, he had something the look of a tiger ready to spring upon his prey. But he held himself in check.

”Monsieur!” he cried, and there was a savage note in his voice, which Dirke would not have credited him with. ”Monsieur! If you decline to permit me to pay for that ring to-morrow, I am ready to _fight_ for it to-night!” He p.r.o.nounced the word ”_fight_” with a peculiar, hissing emphasis.

”Not to-night,” Dirke rejoined quietly.

”And why not to-night, Monsieur, may I ask?”

”Because I am armed, and you are not.”

At the word Dirke had drawn his right hand from his pocket; the barrel of a pistol gleamed white between them.

The Frenchman recoiled. His face was not pleasant to look upon, yet his antagonist would have been sorry to lose the sight of it.

Dirke stood, tall and slim and commanding, his face set in the accustomed lines. No emotion whatever was to be seen there, not even contempt for the man who shrank from sure death in such a cause. For fully twenty seconds they faced each other in the glaring light of the saloon, pent up pa.s.sion visible in the one, invisible in the other. In Dirke's face, and bearing, however, devoid as it was of any emotion, one quality was but the more recognizable for that, and the count knew that the man before him was available as an antagonist.

”Monsieur,” he said, with strong self-control, ”it is possible that you do not understand--that you are not aware--that--Monsieur! The ring which you are pleased to wear so--so--conspicuously is the property of--The ring, Monsieur, is sacred to me!”