II


When Marcus Gard dressed that evening he was so absent-minded that his
valet held forth for an hour in the servants' hall, with assurances that
some mighty _coup_ was toward. Not since the days of B.L. & W. or the
rate war on the S. & O. had his master shown such complete absorption.

"He's like a blind drunk, or a man in a trance, he is--he's just not
there in the head, and you have to walk around and dress his body, like
he was a dumb wax-work. If I get the lay, Smathers, I'll tip you off.
There might be something in it for us. He's due for dinner and bridge at
the Met., but unless Frenchy puts him out of the motor, he won't know
when he gets there"--which proved true. Three times the chauffeur
respectfully advised his master of their arrival, before the wondering
eyes of the club _chasseur_, before the Great Man, suddenly recalled to
the present, descended from his car and was conducted to his waiting
host.

The first one of the company to shake hands with him was Victor
Mahr--and Victor Mahr was a friend of Mrs. Marteen. The sudden
recollection of this fact made him cast such a glance of scrutiny at the
gentleman as to quite discompose him.

"What's the old man up to, gimleting me in the eye like that? He's got
something up his sleeve," thought Mahr.