I saw
Madame wearing some of the jewels at the Palace Hotel, in Madrid, while
they were staying there before their villa was ready. Moulaert, with his
wife and two friends from the Belgian Legation, dined at a table next to
mine, little dreaming with what purpose I ate my meal alone."

Truly, the intuition and cleverness of The Sparrow were wonderful. He
never moved without fully considering every phase of the consequences.
Unlike most adventurers, he drank hardly anything. Half a glass of dry
sherry at eleven in the morning, the same at luncheon, and one glass of
claret for his dinner.

Yet often at restaurants he would order champagne, choice vintage
clarets, and liqueurs--when occasion demanded. He would offer them to
his friends, but just sip them himself, having previously arranged with
the waiter to miss filling his glass.

Of the peril of drink "Mr. Peters" was constantly lecturing the great
circle of his friends.

Each year--on the 26th of February to be exact--there was held a dinner
at a well-known restaurant in the West End--the annual dinner of a
club known as "The Wonder Wizards." It was supposed to be a circle of
professional conjurers.

This dinner was usually attended by fifty guests of both sexes, all
well-dressed and prosperous, and of several nationalities. It was
presided over by a Mr. Charles Williams.

Now, to tell the truth, the guests believed him to be The Sparrow;
but in reality Mr. Williams was the tall White Cavalier whom Hugh had
believed to be the great leader, until he had gone to Mayfair and met
the impelling personality whom the police had for so long failed to
arrest.

The situation was indeed humorous. It was The Sparrow's fancy to hold
the reunion at a public restaurant instead of at a private house. Under
the very nose of Scotland Yard the deputy of the notorious Sparrow
entertained the chiefs of the great criminal octopus. There were
speeches, but from them the waiters learned nothing. It was simply
a club of conjurers. None suspected that the guests were those who
conjured fortunes out of the pockets of the unsuspecting. And while the
chairman--believed by those who attended to be The Sparrow himself--sat
there, the bristly-haired, rather insignificant-looking little man
occupied a seat in a far-off corner, from where he scrutinized his
guests very closely, and smiled at the excellent manner in which his
deputy performed the duties of chairman.

Because it was a club of