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Updated: May 8, 2025
There is something else in your life you have some other feeling about this man Hunterleys' death?" Draconmeyer removed his eyes from the front of the hotel and turned slowly towards his companion. There was a transfiguring smile upon his lips. Again he gave Selingman the impression of complete rejuvenation, of an elderly man suddenly transformed into something young and vigorous.
They made their way out of the Rooms and down into the restaurant on the ground-floor. They found a little table near the wall and he ordered some pâté sandwiches and champagne. Whilst they waited she counted up her money, making calculations on a slip of paper. Draconmeyer leaned back in his chair, watching her. His back was towards the door and they were at the end table.
"Shall we go?" he suggested. She rose with alacrity. Side by side they strolled through the rooms towards the Cercle Privé. "I am sorry," Draconmeyer said regretfully, "but I am forced to leave you now. I will take you back to your place and after that I must go to the hotel and change. I have a reception to attend. I wish you would take the rest of my winnings and see what you can do with them."
Draconmeyer," he added, rising to his feet, "but I am here to forget politics altogether, if I can. If you will excuse me, I think I will look in at the baccarat rooms."
She seemed still perplexed. "I wonder," she murmured, "could I send another message to him? Perhaps he didn't quite understand." "Much better come along to the Club," Draconmeyer advised, good-humouredly. "You can be there yourself before a message could reach him." "Very well," she assented. "I will be ready in ten minutes...." Draconmeyer took his wife back to her room.
Draconmeyer, although he knew perfectly well what was happening, never seemed to glance in her direction. He played with absolute recklessness for half-an-hour. When at last he rose from his seat and joined her, his hands were full of notes. He smiled ever so faintly as he saw the covetous gleam in her eyes. "I'm nearly broken," she gasped. "Leave off playing, please, for a little time.
Draconmeyer demanded, insistently. "Stone dead, sir," the concierge replied. "He was stabbed by some one who stole in through the bathroom they say that he couldn't ever have moved again. The Commissioner of Police is upstairs. The ambulance is round at the back to take him off to the Mortuary." Selingman suddenly seized the man by the arm. His eyes were fixed upon the topmost step.
Why should we, too, not speak of fateful things?" Mr. Draconmeyer glanced around. "For myself," he muttered, "I must say that I prefer a smaller room and a locked door." Selingman demolished a chocolate éclair and shook his head vigorously. "The public places for me," he declared. "Now look around. There is no one, as you will admit, within ear-shot. Very well.
Jean Coulois was moistening his lips with his tongue, his eyes were brilliant. "Five hundred louis!" he repeated under his breath. "Is it not enough?" Draconmeyer asked coldly. "I do not believe in half measures. The man who is wounded may be well before he is welcome. If five hundred louis is not enough, name your price, but let there be no doubt.
Then the memory of that forged order still in his pocket, flashed into his mind. He hesitated. A cold, familiar voice at his elbow intervened. "Are you quite ready for tea, Lady Hunterleys? I have been in and taken a table near the window." Hunterleys moved at once on one side. Draconmeyer bowed pleasantly. "Cheerful time we had last night, hadn't we?" he remarked.
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