James's Church chimed the hour. He found only
Maulevrier's valet. His lordship had waited indoors all the evening, and
had only gone out a quarter of an hour ago. He had gone to the
Cerberus, and begged that Lord Hartfield would be kind enough to follow
him there.
Lord Hartfield was not fond of the Cerberus, and indeed deemed that
lively place of rendezvous a very dangerous sphere for his friend
Maulevrier; but in the face of Maulevrier's telegram there was no time
to be lost, so he walked across Piccadilly and down St. James's Street
to the fashionable little club, where the men were dropping in after the
theatres and dinners, and where sheafs of bank notes were being
exchanged for those various coloured counters which represented divers
values, from the respectable 'pony' to the modest 'chip.'
Maulevrier was in the first room Hartfield looked into, standing behind
some men who were playing.
'That's something like friendship,' he exclaimed, when he saw Lord
Hartfield, and then he hooked his arm through his friend's, and led him
off to the dining room.
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