attention I
permitted, murmuring happily:

"Right, kiddo! Stay me with flagons, comfort me with champagne, for my
heart is faint with love!"--only Solomon didn't sing it quite like
that, the fickle old dog, nor did my waiter understand me, which was
just as well.

Engrossed with watching her I saw a new look come into her face as she
quickly whispered something across the table. Her _vis-a-vis_ turned
impatiently as a man approached them, who to my surprise was the yacht
captain--the fellow who had apparently followed Tommy and Monsieur. He
was a well-built blond, with a bullet-shaped head, high cheek bones and
deep set eyes--pig eyes. His right cheek bore several scars which,
considering his type, strongly suggested a German of University dueling
experiences. So I looked on him with a livelier suspicion, even as she
seemed to be doing.

In an undertone he now said something that brought the old man to his
feet. With fear written on their faces they talked for several minutes,
during which the blond jerked his head once or twice toward the gambling
rooms. The girl had leaned forward watching them intently. Then with a
peremptory order the old one sent him away and sank back into his chair;
but a moment later, clutching the tablecloth, he spoke a few words that
made her recoil in evident horror.

I did not know what to do or what to think, so I merely watched with
every sense alert. I saw him call the waiter for his settlement, I saw
him take out a large roll of money and with trembling fingers peel off
the outside bill--a new and crinkly fifty-dollar note. I saw the girl
idly marking on the winecard with a small gold pencil, though her eyes
were veiling an intense excitement; and when the waiter returned with a
pile of change which the old man began to count, I saw her furtively
slip the winecard to her lap. A moment later it fell to the floor as she
arose to leave.

Together they started toward the exit, but having taken a few steps she
left him with a brief word and returned, presumably for her glove.
Partially free from his eternal vigilance, she raised her eyes without
dissimulation and looked quickly, appealingly into mine; then down at
her hand, on which she leaned, whose fingers were unfolding from a
little ball of paper. Again into my eyes she looked--a look of infinite
appeal.

Across the void from her world to my own she was signaling--trying to
tell me what?--and frantically my fancy sprang to transla