They met at last, those two, and discreetly confabulated, the maître
d'hôtel betraying welcome mitigation of that nervous tension which had
heretofore so palpably affected him; and, as the other stepped back into
the elevator, Lanyard saw this one's glance irresistibly attracted to the
table dedicated to the service of the Princess de Alavia. Something much
resembling satisfaction glimmered in the fellow's leaden eyes: it was
apparent that he anticipated early relief from a distasteful burden of
responsibility.
Then, at ease in the belief that he was unobserved, he turned to a near-by
table round which four sat without the solace of feminine society--four
men whose stamp was far from reassuring despite their strikingly quiet
demeanour and inconspicuously correct investiture of evening dress.
Two were unmistakable sons of the Fatherland; all were well set up, with
the look of men who would figure to advantage in any affair calling for
physical competence and courage, from coffee and pistols at sunrise in the
Parc aux Princes to a battle royal in a Tenderloin dive.
Their table commanded both ways out, by the stairs and by the elevator,
much too closely for Lanyard's peace of mind.
And more than one looked thoughtfully his way while the maître d'hôtel
hovered above them, murmuring confidentially.
Four nods sealed an understanding with him. He strutted off with far more
manner than had been his at any time since the arrival of Lanyard, and
vented an excess of spirits by berating bitterly an unhappy clown of a
waiter for some trivial fault.
The first bars of another dance number sang through the confusion of
voices: truly, as Sophie had foretold, a waltz.