MONSIEUR BEAUCAIRE


by Booth Tarkington




Chapter One


The young Frenchman did very well what he had planned to do. His guess
that the Duke would cheat proved good. As the unshod half-dozen figures
that had been standing noiselessly in the entryway stole softly into the
shadows of the chamber, he leaned across the table and smilingly plucked
a card out of the big Englishman's sleeve.

"Merci, M. le Duc!" he laughed, rising and stepping back from the table.

The Englishman cried out, "It means the dirty work of silencing you with
my bare hands!" and came at him.

"Do not move," said M. Beaucaire, so sharply that the other paused.
"Observe behind you."

The Englishman turned, and saw what trap he had blundered into; then
stood transfixed, impotent, alternately scarlet with rage and white
with the vital shame of discovery. M. Beaucaire remarked, indicating the
silent figures by a polite wave of the hand, "Is it not a compliment
to monsieur that I procure six large men to subdue him? They are quite