"By Jove! it must have been a bad dream, but, d'ye know my dear fellow, I could swear you came and told me you were off for Hamburg, Constantinople or----" "Monte Carlo perhaps, since one place is about as likely as the other." "Well, er, perhaps it was. Wretched dream at any rate. Must have been the Welsh rarebit I had about midnight--awful fond of toast and cheese, you know, especially good Roquefort. Glad to know it was only a dream, dused glad, my boy. Would have missed you very much--good men are too scarce, as it is." Thus Jerome babbled on, his object being simply delay, in order to collect himself and grasp the situation. At the same time possibly he hoped to pull the wool over the eyes of the man he addressed. It was useless. When Roderic mentioned Monte Carlo the schemer knew his game had been exposed through some blunder, and all he could hope to fight for was advantage of position when the assault came. He therefore hurried up his reserves and proceeded to call all hands to repel boarders. Owen had folded his arms and was coolly surveying him across the table--there was a curl to his mustached lip that told of fine scorn. Some men can stand almost anything rather than to be made a mark for irony or disdain, and it was this more than anything else that brought Wellington furiously to the front. "See here, Owen, all chicanery aside, how the devil do you happen to be here at the Shelbourne instead of on a yacht bound for Havre, and eventually to the gamester's Paradise?" he blurted out. "A plain question and deserving an equally candid answer. To tell you the truth then, my dear fellow, I had decided objections to making such a hasty trip across to the Continent. Your preparations for my comfort were overwhelming, and while I appreciated all you did I was obliged to respectfully decline." "Well, my own eyes tell me you are here, but I'll take my oath I saw one who looked enough like you to be your shadow sail out of Kingstown harbor at three this morning on board the steam yacht _Galatea_. And that was no hasheesh dream either, superinduced by Welsh rarebit or opium. Now, who the devil went to Havre?" "A gentleman whose health needed the ocean voyage, and who believed he could enjoy the society of the gay set on board. I have no doubt he will be exceedingly grateful for all your trouble." Jerome looked at first as though he could bite a nail with pleasure--Owen expected him to swear, but the other seldom gave way to such vulgar exhibitions of temper. On the contrary he smiled, and his white teeth showing through his carefully adjusted mustache gave Roderic the impression of a grinning hyena. Still, the application hardly fitted such a case, for Jerome was considered an extremely handsome and fascinating man, however much of a human wolf he might be back of the scenes.