—the oldest profession in the world and instituted by father Adam himself, or, to be more accurate, by mother Eve, Adam being only the fence, like.
Well, sir, as if to compensate for all I'd been through, everything ran my way for a while. Then they got to watching me pretty close, so I decided to take a European trip for my health. I went to London, but it was early spring, and the raw damp brought out my fever, so I lit out for Monte Carlo, and managed to drop the bulk of my wad, then went up to Paris, where the first man I ran into at the Moulin Rouge was my old pal, Jeff.
We sat down and had a drink, then says he: "Look here, Frank, I'm off to a swell supper-party. Will you come? Any friend of mine will be welcome there."
"Who are the people?" I asked.
"The spread is being given by Léontine Petrovsky," says he. "She's a wonder; half French, half Polish. Nobody knows exactly what her lay is, but she's a good fellow and knows her little book. Some say she's a nihilist, others say she's the head of a French gang of thieves. Whatever her game may be it pays, all right. She's got a house over in Passy, near Ranelagh. Come on; you might meet somebody there that 'd be useful."
I agreed, so we piled into a taxi and sped over across the city. We were both in evening dress and might have passed anywhere for a couple of English swells—the real thing. Jeff stopped the motor on a corner, and we got out and walked down a quaint little street and rang the bell of a big iron gate which opened into a garden. A footman in uniform let us
