'
'Meddlechip,' echoed Vandeloup, as if to himself; 'my faith!'
'Yes,' broke in Bellthorp, quickly; 'the one we were speaking of at
the club--do you know him?'
'I fancy I do,' said Vandeloup, with a strange smile. 'You must
excuse me to your supper to-night.'
'No, we won't,' said Barty, firmly; 'you must come.'
'Then I'll look in later,' said Vandeloup, who had not the slightest
intention of going. 'Will that do?'
'I suppose it will have to,' said Bellthorp, in an injured tone;
'but why can't you come now?'
'I've got to see about some business,' said Vandeloup.
'What, at this hour of the night?' cried Jarper, in a voice of
disgust.
Vandeloup nodded, and lit a cigarette.
'Well, mind you come in later,' said Barty, and then he and his
friends left the bar, after making Vandeloup promise faithfully he
would come.
Gaston sauntered slowly up to the coffee bar, and asked for a cup in
his usual musical voice, but when the stout gentleman heard him
speak he turned pale and looked up. The thin one had gone off to
talk to someone else, so when Vandeloup got his coffee he turned
slowly round and looked straight at Meddlechip seated in the chair.
'Good evening, M. Kestrike,' he said, quietly.
Meddlechip, whose face was usually red and florid-looking, turned
ghastly pale, and sprang to his feet.
'Octave Braulard!' he gasped, placing his coffee cup on the counter.
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