I saw his friend smile. "Dago was the one lucky man this afternoon, I should say," the first speaker remarked presently. "But there--he's always lucky." Instantly my interest was aroused. "Dago!" Could it be--surely--? "Yes, he's lucky enough," the other answered. Then, after a pause he added: "That's a man I can't stand." "Can't stand? Why?" "Oh, I don't know. The fellow gets on my nerves. How does he live? Have you any idea?" "You mean, what is his source of income? I'm sure I can't tell you. But for that matter, how do half the men we meet here at Monte manage to live? It would not be well to ask. They have money, and that is the main thing. All we require is to transfer to our own pockets as much of it as we can." The young man looked at him thoughtfully for some moments, then said-- "Yes, I suppose so." The tone in which he spoke was ironical, but his companion didn't notice it. "Do you know Paulton well?" the elder man asked himself. "As well as I care to. Why do you ask?" "Only just out of curiosity. Many people form an unfavourable impression of him when they meet him first, and afterwards they come to like him." "That's the reverse of my case," answered the young man quickly. "The first time I met him I rather liked him, I remember. But after I had met him several times--well, I changed about him. He may be all right! I dare say he is. I suppose our personalities are not akin, as I have heard some one put it." "He's a fine shot." "You are right. He is. I thought he would win the cup to-day." "The bird that knocked him out was badly hit. If he had killed it, he would have won second money." The young Englishman lay back, stretched himself, and yawned. "I'm getting fed up with this place," he said at last. "I shall get back to England in a day or two. How long shall you remain here?" "It depends--partly on Dago. We're running a sort of syndicate together, you know--or probably you don't know. He has to see one or two men here about it before we leave." "What sort of syndicate?" "I am afraid I'm not at liberty to tell you--yet. I can tell you this-- though, we have a lady interested in it, a very pretty girl. That ought to appeal to you," and he laughed. "Have I seen her?" the young man asked, looking at him curiously. His companion pondered. Then suddenly he exclaimed-- "Why, yes--of course you have. She was playing trente-et-quarante the other night, and nothing could stop her winning. She won a maximum and went on and on, simply raking in the money. You and I were there together. I am sure you must remember." "_That_ girl!" The tone in which he uttered these words surprised me. Could it be Vera of whom they had been speaking? According to Lord Logan she had won heavily at trente-et-quarante. And if so, who was this man, this partner and friend of Dago Paulton's? And what could the secret syndicate be in which both were interested?