Even while he noted the descending lift, in which he could see Mensmore, who had donned a light covert coat, the breast of which bulged somewhat on the left side, the hotel clerk came to him, triumphantly holding a letter. "And now, monsieur," cried the clerk, "we shall see what we shall see." The missive was addressed to the mysterious Sydney H. Corbett, and had been forwarded by the Sloane Square Post-Office. With a clang the door of the lift swung open and Mensmore hastened out. Bruce had to decide instantly between the chance of seeing Corbett with his own eyes and pursuing the fanciful errand he had mapped out in imagination with reference to the stranger who so interested him. "Thank you," he said to the clerk. "I am going to the Casino for an hour; you will greatly oblige me by keeping a sharp lookout for any one who claims the letter." "Monsieur, it shall have my utmost regard." The barrister had not erred in his surmise as to Mensmore's destination. The young man walked straight across the square and entered the grounds of the famous Casino. Indoors, an excellent band was playing a selection from "The Geisha." The spacious _foyer_ was fast filling with a fashionable throng; without, the silver radiance of the moon, lighting up gardens, rocks, buildings, and sea, might well have added the last link to the pleasant bondage that would keep any one from the gambling saloon that night; but Mensmore heeded none of these things. He passed the barrier, closely followed by Bruce, crossed the _foyer_, and disappeared through the baize doors that guard the magnificent room in which roulette is played. Round several of the tables a fairly considerable crowd had gathered already. The more, the merrier, is the rule of the Casino. There is something curiously fascinating for the gambler in the presence of others. It would seem to be an almost ridiculous thing for a man to stalk solemnly up to a deserted board and stake his money on the chances of the game merely for the edification of the officials in charge. Bruce entered the room soon after Mensmore, and saw the latter elbowing his way to a seat about to be vacated by a stout Spanish lady, who had rapidly lost the sum she allowed herself to stake each day. She was one of those numerous players who bring to the Casino a certain amount daily, and systematically stop playing when they have either lost their money or won a previously determined maximum. This method, in fact, when combined with a careful system, is the only one whereby even a rich individual can indulge in a costly pastime, and, at the same time, escape speedy ruin. With a fair share of luck it may be made to pay; with continuous bad fortune the loss is spread over such a period that common sense has some opportunity to rescue the victim before it is too late.