," said Aristide suavely. "We don't want the
whole Casino as witnesses. You'll find a chair over there. Bring it up."

He was enjoying himself immensely. The Count glared at him, turned and
banged a chair over by the side of the table.

"Why do you insult me like this?"

"Because," said Aristide, "I've talked by telephone this evening with my
good friend Monsieur Lepine, Prefect of Police of Paris."

"You lie," said the Count.

"_Vous verrez._ In the meantime, perhaps we might have a little
conversation. Will you have a whisky and soda? It is one of my English
habits."

"No," said the Count emphatically.

"You permit me then?" He drank a great draught. "You are wrong. It helps
to cool one's temper. _Eh bien_, let us talk."

He talked. He put before the Count the situation of the beautiful Miss
Errington. He conducted the scene like the friend of the family whose
astuteness he had admired as a boy in the melodramas that found their
way to Marseilles.

"Look," said he, at last, having vainly offered from one hundred to
eight hundred pounds for poor Betty Errington's compromising letters.
"Look----" He drew the cheque from his note-case. "Here are twenty-five
thousand francs. The signature is that of the charming Madame Errington
herself. The letters, and a little signed word, just a little word.
'Mademoiselle, I am a _chevalier d'industrie_. I have a wife and five
children. I am not worthy of you. I give you back your promise.' Just
that. And twenty-five thousand francs, _mon ami_."

"Never in life!" exclaimed the Count rising. "You continue to insult
me."

Aristide for the first time abandoned his lazy and insolent attitude and
jumped to his feet.

"And I'll continue to insult you, _canaille_ that you are, all through
that room," he cried, with a swift-flung gesture towards the brilliant
doorway. "You are dealing with Aristide Pujol. Will you never
understand? The letters and a confession for twenty-five thousand
francs."

"Never in life," said the Count, and he moved swiftly away.

Aristide caught him by the collar as he stood on the covered terrace, a
foot or two from the threshold of the gaming-room.

"I swear to you, I'll make a scandal that you won't survive."

The Count stopped and pushed Aristide's hand away.

"I admit nothing," said he. "But you are a gambler and so am I. I will
play you for those documents against twenty-five thousand francs."

"Eh?" said Aristide, staggered for the moment