Clifford was cool enough until he was out of her presence; then feverishly he considered what she had told him. Whatever this subterranean affair might be, if this invitation had any part in it, he reasoned that nothing would happen at such discreet places of entertainment as the Ritz-Carlton, the Empire Theater, or Delmonico’s. Instinctively he knew that the design would unfold itself, if it were to be unfolded that evening, at Le Minuit, an establishment which had just then caught the errant fancy of some of the smarter social set, and naturally, therefore, of members of the smarter set of the demi-world and underworld. His business, therefore, was to be at Le Minuit. CHAPTER XXI AT THE MIDNIGHT CAFÉ Monsieur Le Bain, proprietor of the Grand Alcazar, was a man of ideas and was by way of being a bit of a monopolist in his chosen business. But he was careful not to be his own competitor; so when he had prospered to the point where prosperity could be enlarged only by a second restaurant, he took great thought that he should not injure that excellent proposition, the Grand Alcazar. The result of this thought was Le Minuit, which he so named because its doors did not open until midnight. Shortly after twelve Clifford, turning a few paces off Broadway, mounted a brilliant stairway. By being off the street floor, “The Midnight” gave a sense (an effect carefully thought out by Monsieur Le Bain) of privacy and also of piquant naughtiness. He was in evening dress; patrons of the place, male or female, had to be so garbed to pass the gold-braided guardian who held the outer door. Inside the café, Clifford was approached by a head waiter. “I want to see Monsieur Le Bain--at once,” he said in that manner which head waiters instinctively obey. The head waiter vanished. The next moment Monsieur Le Bain was approaching. “Joe,” Clifford began shortly, “this joint is being watched, and I’ve got my eyes on it, too.” “Honest to God, I ain’t pullin’ nothin’ crooked here,” responded Monsieur Le Bain, lapsing from his French accent into the one more natural to him. “You’d better not try to,” Clifford warned grimly, looking coldly and squarely into his dark eyes. Seeing that he had made his impression, Clifford inquired: “Mr. Loveman come yet?” “No.” “But he has a table reserved for two?” “Yes.” “Joe, you give me a table for one, close to it, so I can see Loveman, without being seen.” “I can fix you up with a cabinet particulier,” the other said cringingly, “if it’s privacy you want.” “I don’t want to be alone in any cabinet particulier. I want to be alone where I can see. You’re going to fix that up, Joe,--and you’re not going to pass any tip along to Mr. Loveman. Otherwise you’ll be hearing something from the Bureau of Licenses that won’t be healthy for your business.” “Aw, now, don’t get sore,” said Monsieur Le Bain, “it’s goin’ to be just like you say.”