So he persisted in raising the stakes still higher. And he drank! He emptied the flask of Maraschino, and began upon the Kummel, and would have emptied that if his host's daughter had not, probably in a moment of abstraction, removed the case of liqueurs from the table. He was in the highest spirits, and lost as though losing were a pleasure. And mademoiselle leant over his shoulder and whispered in his ear. But at last her father declared that play must cease. "You have had bad fortune," he observed. "Extraordinary!" exclaimed Mr Davison; his utterance was a little thick. "Extraordinary! Never had such bad fortune in my life before. It isn't fair to judge of a man's form from the play tonight? What do I owe you? A heap, I know." "A trifle," M. de Fontanes looked through his tablets. "Three thousand seven hundred and fifty francs." "Three thousand seven hundred and fifty francs! Why, that's a--that's a hundred and fifty pounds! Great snakes!" The magnitude of the sum almost sobered him. M. de Fontanes smiled. "You must try again for your revenge." As before, the lady escorted the guest downstairs, "assisted" him would, on the present occasion, perhaps, have been the better word. The touch of her hand at parting increased his sense of intoxication. The cool air of the early morning did not tend to lessen it. He went staggering over the cobblestones. On the quay he encountered a solitary figure--the figure of a man who was strolling up and down and smoking a cigar. Mr Davison, with a burst of tipsy surprise, perceived that it was Mr Lintorn. "Lintorn! I thought you were writing your letters." Mr Lintorn quietly surveyed him. "Did you? How much have you lost?" "How do you know I've lost?" "Why?" Mr Lintorn shrugged his shoulders. "The man happens to be a cheat." "Don't--don't you say that again!" "Why not? You would have seen it yourself if you had had your wits about you. He was cheating all the time." "You--!" Mr Davison struck at his friend. Mr Lintorn warded off the blow. Mr Davison struck again. The man was drunk and bent upon a row. It was impossible to avoid him without actually turning tail and fleeing. So Mr Lintorn let him have it. Mr Davison lay on his back among the cobble-stones. Mr Lintorn advanced to his assistance. The recumbent hero greeted him with a volley of abuse. Seeing that to persist would only be to bring about a renewal of hostilities, Mr Lintorn strolled off to the hotel alone, leaving Mr Davison to follow at his leisure. CHAPTER III The next morning Mr Davison did not put in an appearance at breakfast. So Mr Lintorn went to look for him in his room. He knocked at the door. "Who's there?" growled a voice within. "Lintorn. May I come in?"