There was a whispered colloquy, and Alan Hawke caught the gleam of the silver neck chain of the maitre d'hotel.

The sound of an opening door was heard, and, in a few moments the flying Camilla returned to her hidden prey.
"Tell me truly," she panted, "what will you do with him?
He wishes me to ride with him; my answer depends on you.

You are in trouble; I can see it in your haggard eyes.

Help me now, and--and I will help you!" And then Alan Hawke spoke truly to the waif of Destiny, whom chance had thrown in his way.
"I only wish to play with him for a couple of hours; if luck turns my way, that will be time enough!" "Ah! you would have money! Let him go away in peace! Help me to-morrow, here, and I will give you money!" "What is your own scheme ?" the doubting vaurien demanded.
"I must know all of this Hugh Johnstone, all about this girl," she whispered, her lips almost touching his cheek.
"Let me play with him to-night; I am yours as soon as he departs!" sullenly said Hawke.
"Then, finish in two hours," the woman said, gathering her draperies to flee away, "for I will ride with him to-night!" "Just a bit unconventional," murmured Alan Hawke.

"Who the devil can this French-English woman be anyway." He realized that some subtle game depended upon the memories of the past strangely evoked by the artless Anstruther's babble.