out the ends of his words, adding almost a whole syllable to consonant endings, and this gave his conversation a hint of pedantry. He had told me at Léontine's dinner-party that his favourite recreation was big-game hunting, and that he had once, while in the Nguru country, taken part in a Masai lion hunt. You know the sport. The natives, armed with shield and spear surround the lion and then close in on him in a small circle; when he springs the hunter receives him on his assegai.
Such a man was Chu-Chu le Tondeur. As I entered the room he bowed; I did the same. Ivan offered me a chair, then seated himself behind his desk.
Chu-Chu opened the conversation by complimenting me upon my escape, then expressed his regret that so accomplished a colleague should quit the professional field, hinting at the same time that I would probably return to it when tired of the banality of legitimate business. He spoke in fairly good English, but with the effort of one who has learned a language by study and translates from his own tongue.
"M. le Comte tells me," he said, presently, "that you are not content with our little affair of the night before last."
"To be frank," I answered, "it impressed me as a poor return for my own behaviour on the occasion when we last met."
Chu-Chu shrugged. "We are criminals," says he, "and business is business, as they say in your country. Besides, my dear Mr. Clamart, once a man has given up his profession he can hardly expect to
