“I am looking forward to it,” was the reply, “provided your status admits of my crossing swords with you.” Dewson and Brandon stared uncomprehendingly. “I mean, are you of gentle blood? To what Brandons do you belong?” The novelist continued to stare. “My governor is James Brandon, K.C., if that’s what you’re driving at!” “Professional people?” said O’Hagan with exquisite condescension. “Never mind. For our present purpose, sufficiently respectable.” What the now incensed Brandon might have said to that will never be known, for he was interrupted by the ringing of the bell, by the almost immediate entrance of a loudly pretty woman who was furiously overdressed, who struck the vision a sharp blow, from which one’s outraged eyes blinkingly recoiled. She was arrayed in a long coat of leopard’s skin, wore a motor bonnet of the same material, from the left side whereof, rearward, swept a golden plume of incredible length. Her hair was of the hue sometimes called Titian, but would have made Titian weep blood. This lady—who proved to be French—was introduced as La Belle Lotus. “Another client of mine, Captain!” explained Dewson, affably anxious to dissipate the thundery atmosphere which had settled upon the establishment. Brandon was scowling ferociously. “She is the latest sensation in dancers, sir. Her ‘Dance of Delilah’ is the talk of London! This is the lady you’ll quarrel about. Savvy? Three birds with one stone! All town will rush to see the girl two big men have fought over. Up go her bookings! How’s that for a three-handed boost? The limit?” O’Hagan raised his glass. “It strikes me as being appreciably beyond the limit!” he drawled. “But what has led you to suppose that I am desirous of publishing my memoirs?” “You’re not out throwing away thousands, I take it?” “On the contrary, Mr. Dewson. But, emphatically, I shall not publish any kind of book. You may omit that item from your ‘proposition.’” La Belle surveyed the speaker appreciatively. Brandon watched him in angry perplexity. Dewson’s round eyes grew rounder. “You don’t mean to say——” “I have no intention of disturbing your admirable arrangements, Mr. Dewson. You may rely upon me to meet Mr. Brandon.” “But ‘My Affaires’”—— “Dismiss the idea. It is out of the question.” “Then what are you doing it for?” O’Hagan, having examined minutely the visible attractions of La Belle Lotus—so minutely as to make her blush—dropped his glass. “Your proposal is of such a nature, sir,” he replied calmly, “that no gentleman could decline to accept it.” “I want to know how we stand,” burst in Brandon, his choler enhanced by the evident inability of the lady to withstand O’Hagan’s frank gaze. “Are you——” “Am I going to meet you on the French coast, sir?” O’Hagan anticipated. “Emphatically, yes! Rely upon me!”