I presume one is to understand you wait upon me as representing the fine flower of the European underworld?"
"You're to understand that I, for one, don't relish your impudence," the stout Popinot snapped.
"Sorry.… But I have already indicated my inability to take you seriously."
"Why not?" the American demanded ominously. "You'd be sore enough if we took you as a joke, wouldn't you?"
"You misapprehend, Mr.—ah—Smith: it is my first aim and wish that you do not take me in any manner, shape or form. It is you, remember, who requested this interview and—er—dressed your parts so strikingly!"
"What are we to understand by that?" De Morbihan interposed.
"This, messieurs—if you must know." Lanyard dropped for the moment his tone of raillery and bent forward, emphasizing his points by tapping the table with a forefinger. "Through some oversight of mine or cleverness of yours—I can't say which—perhaps both—you have succeeded in penetrating my secret. What then? You become envious of my success. In short, I stand in your light: I'm always getting away with something you might have lifted if you'd only had wit enough to think of it first. As your American accomplice, Mr. Mysterious Smith, would say, I 'cramp your style.'"
"You learned that on Broadway," the American commented shrewdly.
"Possibly.… To continue: so you get together, and bite your nails until you concoct a plan to frighten me into
