eme de Minthe--Kuemmel
or Cognac?"

"Cognac, thank you," I replied, and that was the end of the matter.

During the remainder of the evening not another word was said upon the
subject. We chatted upon a variety of topics, but neither the matter of
the precious stones nor even Kitwater's name was once mentioned. I could
not help fancying, however, that the man was considerably disappointed
at the non-acceptance of his preposterous offer. He had made a move on
the board, and had lost it. I knew him well enough, however, by this
time to feel sure that he by no means despaired yet of winning the game.
Men of Gideon Hayle's stamp are hard to beat.

"Now," he said, when we had smoked our cigarettes, and after he had
consulted his watch, "The night is still young. What do you say if we
pay a visit to a theatre--the Hippodrome, for instance. We might wile
away an hour there very pleasantly if you feel so disposed."

I willingly consented, and we accordingly left the restaurant. Once we
were in the street Hayle called a cab, gave the man his instructions,
and we entered it. Chatting pleasantly, and still smoking, we passed
along the brilliantly illuminated Boulevards. I bestowed little, if any,
attention on the direction in which we were proceeding. Indeed, it would
have been difficult to have done so for never during the evening had
Hayle been so agreeable. A more charming companion no man could have
desired. It was only on chancing to look out of the window that that I
discovered that we were no longer in the gaily-lighted thoroughfares,
but were entering another and dingier part of the town.

"What is the matter with the driver?" I asked. "Doesn't he know what he
is about? This is not the way to the Hippodrome! He must have
misunderstood what you said to him. Shall I hail him and point out
his mistake?"

"No, I don't think it is necessary for you to do that," he replied.
"Doubtless he will be on the right track in a few minutes. He probably
thinks if he gives us a longer ride, he will be able to charge a
proportionately larger fare at the end. The Parisian cabby is very like
his London brother."

He then proceeded to describe to me an exceedingly funny adventure that
had fallen him once in Chicago. The recital lasted some minutes, and all
the time we were still pursuing our way in a direction exactly opposite
to that which I knew we should be following. At last I could stand it
no longer.

"The man's obviously an id