THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
Colburton drank his tea. "Want some?"
"Had my breakfast on board." Camden smiled at the other's sudden conciliatory mood. So long as this Pied Piper of Petticoat Lane had use for him, there was no need to worry about the immediate future. Besides, he had an idea. If it worked out he could go on his own for several years to come. "When will you come aboard the Elsa?"
"About four. Some officers are coming. There'll be bridge. I'll drop out after dinner and you can play a few rubbers. They're a reckless lot. Sixpence a point."
"Thanks for the manna. It pleases me to know that you know I'm not a crook with cards, only skilful. Well, I'll see you at four. What are your plans?"
"I'm mulling them over now. I want her to believe I've given up. I'll let her have October and November. She'll grow careless. I'll fix your Irishman."
"I'll do my share, but it's got to be a plausible trick, Orestes, a plausible trick. The way that man Grogan hovers around that girl is an illumination. He knows that something's wrong, that she's in danger, though he doesn't know what it is."
"I ran into him in Venice," said Colburton, coldly. "I'm glad you tell me he's in love with her. If you can twist a man's heart, it's better than twisting his bones."
Camden departed. Poor Grogan! It was not
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