"I'll pay for the luncheon myself," he said. "You had better. It was great sport to watch your face. I'll be in a happy frame of mind all day now." After luncheon Merrihew secretly bought two boxes of cigars to carry along. They were good cigars and cost him fifteen dollars. He covered them with some newspapers, and at the station succeeded by some legerdemain in slipping them into one of his cases. Hillard would have lectured him on his extravagance, and this was a good way to avoid it. But some hours later he was going to be very sorry that he had not made a confidant of his guide. Merrihew had never heard of the town of Ventimiglia, which straddles the frontiers of France and Italy. As they were boarding the train they noticed two gentlemen getting into the forward compartment of the carriage. "Humph! Our friend with the scar," said Hillard. "We do not seem able to shake him." "I'd like to shake him. He goes against the grain, somehow." Merrihew swung into the compartment. "I wonder why the Sandfords dropped him?" "For some good reason. They are a liberal pair, and if our friend forward offended them, it must have been something deliberate and outside the pale of forgiveness. But I should like to know where old Giovanni is. I miss him." "Poor devil!" said Merrihew with careless sympathy. It is easy to be sympathetic with persons whose troubles are remote from our own. The train started, and again they had the compartment. "Monte Carlo! Gold, gold, little round pieces of gold!" Merrihew rubbed his hands like the miser in _The Chimes of Normandy_. "Hard to get and heavy to hold!" quoted Hillard. "I suppose that you have a system already worked out." "Of course. I shall win if I stick to it." "Or if the money lasts. Bury your system, my boy. It will do you no good. Trust to luck only. Monte Carlo is the graveyard of systems." "But maybe my system is the one. You can't tell till I have tried it." Merrihew lighted a cigar, and Hillard smiled secretly. After some time the conductor came in to examine the tickets. When the examination was over he paused in front of Merrihew, who puffed complacently. "Signore," the conductor said politely, "_e vietato fumare_." Merrihew replied with an uncomprehending stare. "_Non fumer!_" said the conductor, with his hand at the side of his mouth, as one does to a person who is suddenly discovered to be hard of hearing. Merrihew smiled weakly and signified that he did not understand. "_Nicht rauchen!_" cried the official in desperation. Merrihew extended his hands hopelessly. He had nothing belonging to the conductor. Hillard had the tickets. "_Niet rooken! Niet rooken!_" "I say, Jack, what the deuce does he want, anyhow?" "_Cigare, cigare!_" The conductor gesticulated toward the window. "Oh!" Merrihew took the cigar from his teeth and went through the pantomime of tossing it out of the window. "_Si, si!_" assented the conductor, delighted that he was finally understood.