“That’s good,” rapped Dewson. “We’ll talk about the book, later. When you see eye to eye with me you won’t want to drop it. But you’re game for the little passage of arms? That’s the talk! Well, talking’s dry work. What about——” “Excuse me.” O’Hagan raised his hand. “Pray excuse me!” “But we’ve made no arrangements.” “I am listening, Mr. Dewson.” Dewson felt that he was being hustled. “Well, I’d planned it to start on Wednesday night. Brandon and Yvette—La Belle—are having supper at Varano’s. I’m there, too; but not at the same table. Press boys there, of course. You blow in, and say or do something which Brandon’s supposed to take as an insult.” O’Hagan, his head attentively tilted, nodded. La Belle was watching him, now, fascinatedly. “I shall observe your wishes implicitly, Mr. Dewson!” “Bit of a scene. Cards exchanged. Pars in the press.” “A proviso, sir. My name shall not be mentioned.” “Not mentioned!” “Let all the credit be Mr. Brandon’s. I remain anonymous.” “It’s sure to come out later. I don’t understand——” “I am aware of that, Mr. Dewson! On the following morning, if I do not mistake you, Mr. Brandon’s friends call upon me, and the meeting is arranged?” “That’s it! We’re supposed to be hushing it up, see? But it kind of leaks out!” “Precisely. At what hour will Mr. Brandon be supping?” “Say half-past eleven.” “It is an appointment.” Captain O’Hagan bowed to the leopard lady, looking challengingly into her eyes—turned from Messrs. Brandon and Dewson, and walked to the door. Upon Brandon’s tongue unutterable things trembled. Mr. Dewson was not entirely at his ease. ————— III. THE BOOM. Captain O’Hagan entered Varano’s at half-past eleven on Wednesday evening. No more need be said. A sensation amongst the guests is understood. For a moment he paused, glass raised. His pose was a poem in grace; his mode of surveying those who supped was a tribute so deliciously keen as almost to be insulting. He focussed the table whereat Ronald Brandon and the dancer were seated. Amid a cathedral silence, impressive and oppressive, he traversed the supper-room. To say that he crossed it would be inaccurate and inadequate; he traversed it. “Sir!”—he bent over Brandon—“one moment. Mademoiselle!”—he smiled upon La Belle Yvette—“might I entreat you to step aside with me?” She glanced at Brandon, flushing with excitement now that the moment of the “boom” was come. Brandon, who vainly had besought Dewson to recast the comedy—omitting O’Hagan—examined his finger nails. He was acting poorly. In fact he was pronouncedly “fluffy.” La Belle rose and stepped aside with O’Hagan. She wore an amazingly daring and dazzlingly brilliant evening toilette; a tight-fitting silk gown coloured in imitation of a leopard’s skin. Dewson identified his clients with certain “make-ups” or trademarks. Thus, La Belle Lotus was “the leopard lady.”