"Well," exclaimed Hoggan, the perfect lover, "you'd better see her ladyship as soon as possible. Guess she's still in London, eh?" "I'll ring up later on and ask the fat old butler. But you clear out right away, boy. There's no time to lose. Write to me at the _Poste Restante_ in the Strand. Don't write here, the police may get hold of my mail." "If her ladyship turns on you, I guess you'll have to look slick." "Bah! No fear of that, sonny. We've got her right there." "You can't ever be sure where a woman is concerned. She might suddenly throw discretion to the winds, and tell her husband all about it. Then you, too, would have to clear right away." "Guess I should," replied Patten. "But I don't fear her. I mean to get another thousand out of her. Women who make fools of themselves have to pay for it." "Well, I must say you engineered it wonderfully," declared Hoggan. "And I'll do so again with a little luck," his friend declared. "Come and have another cocktail, and then shake the dust of this infernal city off your feet. Every time you have a drink things look different." The two men passed into the inner room, where the bar was situated, and after a final Martini each, went out together into the handsome hall of the hotel. "Wal, so long, old pal! Clear out right away," whispered Patten, as he shook his friend's hand. And next moment Silas P. Hoggan passed across the courtyard and into the busy Strand, once more a fugitive from justice. CHAPTER XXI. THE GREEN TABLE. One afternoon a fortnight later Ralph Ansell, well dressed, and posing as usual as a wealthy American, who had lived for many years in France, stood at the window of his room in the expensive Palace Hotel at Trouville, gazing upon the sunny _plage_, with its boarded promenade placed on the wide stretch of yellow sand. In the sunshine there were many bathers in remarkable costumes, enjoying a dip in the blue sea, while the crowd of promenaders in summer clothes passed up and down. The season was at its height, for it was the race week at Deauville, and all the pleasure world of Paris had flocked there. Surely in the whole of gay Europe there is no brighter watering place than Trouville-sur-Mer during the race week, and certainly the played-out old Riviera, with the eternal Monte, is never so _chic_, nor are the extravagant _modes_ ever so much in evidence, as at the Normandie at Deauville, or upon the boarded promenade which runs before those big, white hotels on the sands at Trouville. Prices were, of course, prohibitive. The casino was at its gayest and brightest, and the well-known American bar, close to the last-named institution, Ansell patronised daily in order to scrape acquaintance with its chance customers. Having been up playing cards the greater part of the night before, he had eaten his luncheon in bed, and had just risen and dressed. He gazed out of his window down upon the sunny scene of seaside revelry, as a bitter smile played upon his lips.