to-morrow, here, and I will give you money!"

"What is your own scheme?" the doubting vaurien demanded.

"I must know all of this Hugh Johnstone, all about this girl," she
whispered, her lips almost touching his cheek.

"Let me play with him to-night; I am yours as soon as he departs!"
sullenly said Hawke.

"Then, finish in two hours," the woman said, gathering her draperies
to flee away, "for I will ride with him to-night!"

"Just a bit unconventional," murmured Alan Hawke. "Who the devil can
this French-English woman be anyway." He realized that some subtle
game depended upon the memories of the past strangely evoked by the
artless Anstruther's babble. As he strolled back to the smoking-room,
he saw the maitre d'hotel slyly deliver a twisted bit of paper to
the all too unconcerned looking young Adonis, and the gleam of a
napoleon shone out in the grave faced Figaro's hand. "Now for our
cafe noir, a good pousse cafe--and--a dash at the painted beauties.
I can't play very long," was Anstruther's salutation, as he
complacently twisted his mustache en hussar. Major Hawke bowed in
a silent delight.

And so it fell out that both wolf and panther--hungry vulpine prowler
and sleek feminine soft-footed enemy--gathered closely, around the
young British Lion, whose easy self-complacency led him into the
snare, hoodwinked by the fair unknown Delilah.