"There is _never_ a hitch in my arrangements," he complained.
The other smiled, and without any further word of adieu he left the
room, closing the door behind him.
M. Papopolous remained in thought for a moment stroking his venerable
white beard, and then moved across to a second door which opened
inwards. As he turned the handle, a young woman, who only too clearly
had been leaning against it with her ear to the keyhole, stumbled
headlong into the room. M. Papopolous displayed neither surprise nor
concern. It was evidently all quite natural to him.
"Well, Zia?" he asked.
"I did not hear him go," explained Zia.
She was a handsome young woman, built on Junoesque lines, with dark
flashing eyes and such a general air of resemblance to M. Papopolous
that it was easy to see they were father and daughter.
"It is annoying," she continued vexedly, "that one cannot see through a
keyhole and hear through it at the same time."
"It has often annoyed me," said M. Papopolous, with great simplicity.
"So that is M. le Marquis," said Zia slowly. "Does he always wear a
mask, father?"
"Always."
There was a pause.
"It is the rubies, I suppose?" asked Zia.
Her father nodded.
"What do you think, my little one?" he inquired, with a hint of
amusement in his beady black eyes.
"Of M. le Marquis?"
"Yes."
"I think," said Zia slowly, "that it is a very rare thing to find a
well-bred Englishman who speaks French as well as that."
"Ah," said M. Papopolous, "so that is what you think."
As usual, he did not commit himself, but he regarded Zia with benign
approval.
"I thought, too," said Zia, "that his head was an odd shape."
"Massive," said her father--"a trifle massive. But then that effect is
always created by a wig."
They both looked at each other and smiled.