The man with the white hair continued on his course, unhurried, and
seemingly indifferent to his surroundings. He took a side turning to
the right and another one to the left. Now and then he hummed a little
air to himself.
Suddenly he stopped dead and listened intently. He had heard a certain
sound. It might have been the bursting of a tyre or it might have
been--a shot. A curious smile played round his lips for a minute. Then
he resumed his leisurely walk.
On turning a corner he came upon a scene of some activity. A
representative of the law was making notes in a pocket-book, and one or
two late passers-by had collected on the spot. To one of these the man
with the white hair made a polite request for information.
"Something has been happening, yes?"
"_Mais oui_, Monsieur. Two apaches set upon an elderly American
gentleman."
"They did him no injury?"
"No, indeed." The man laughed. "The American, he had a revolver in his
pocket, and before they could attack him, he fired shots so closely
round them that they took alarm and fled. The police, as usual, arrived
too late."
"Ah!" said the inquirer.
He displayed no emotion of any kind.
Placidly and unconcernedly he resumed his nocturnal strolling.
Presently he crossed the Seine and came into the richer areas of the
city. It was some twenty minutes later that he came to a stop before a
certain house in a quiet but aristocratic thoroughfare.
The shop, for shop it was, was a restrained and unpretentious one. D.
Papopolous, dealer in antiques, was so known to fame that he needed
no advertisement, and indeed most of his business was not done over
a counter. M. Papopolous had a very handsome apartment of his own
overlooking the Champs Élysées, and it might reasonably be supposed
that he would have been found there and not at his place of business
at such an hour, but the man with the white hair seemed confident of
success as he pressed the obscurely placed bell, having first given a
quick glance up and down the deserted street.
His confidence was not misplaced. The door opened and a man stood in
the aperture. He wore gold rings in his ears and was of a swarthy cast
of countenance.
"Good evening," said the stranger. "Your master is within?"
"The master is here, but he does not see chance visitors at this time
of night," growled the other.
"I think he will see me. Tell him that his friend M. le Marquis is
here."
The man opened the door a little wider and allowed the visitor to enter.
The man who gave his name as M. le Marquis had shielded his face
with his hand as he spoke. When the man-servant returned with the
information that M. Papopolous would be pleased to receive the visitor
a further change had taken place in the stranger's appearance. The
man-servant must have been very unobservant or very well trained for
he betrayed no surprise at the small black satin mask which hid the
other's features. Leading the way to a door at the end of the hall, he
opened it and announced in a respectful murmur: "_M. le Marquis_."
The figure which rose to receive this strange guest was an imposing
one. There was something venerable and patriarchal about M. Papopolous.
He had a high domed forehead and a beautiful white beard. His manner
had in it something ecclesiastical and benign.
"My dear friend," said M. Papopolous.
He spoke in French and his tones were rich and unctuous.
"I must apologize," said the visitor, "for the lateness of the hour."
"Not at all. Not at all," said M. Papopolous--"an interesting time of
night. You have had, perhaps, an interesting evening?"
"Not personally," said M. le Marquis.
"Not personally," repeated M. Papopolous, "no, no, of course not. And
there is news, eh?"
He cast a sharp glance sideways at the other, a glance that was not
ecclesiastical or benign in the least.
"There is no news. The attempt failed. I hardly expected anything else."
"Quite so," said M. Papopolous; "anything crude--"
He waved his hand to express his intense distaste for crudity in any
form. There was indeed nothing crude about M. Papopolous nor about the
goods he handled. He was well known in most European courts, and kings
called him Demetrius in a friendly manner. He had the reputation for
the most exquisite discretion. That, together with the nobility of his
aspect, had carried him through several very questionable transactions.
"The direct attack--" said M. Papopolous. He shook his head. "It
answers sometimes--but very seldom."
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"It saves time," he remarked, "and to fail costs nothing--or next to
nothing. The other plan--will not fail."
"Ah," said M. Papopolous, looking at him keenly.
The other nodded slowly.
"I have great confidence in your--er--reputation," said the antique
dealer.