“So early in the evening,” pursued the Greek, rapidly, “the more interesting types will hardly have arrived; nevertheless, at the Memphis Café”…
“Memphis Café!” muttered Helen, glancing at him rapidly; “what an odd name.”
“Ah! my dear Miss Cumberly!” cried Gianapolis, with triumph—“I knew that you had never heard of the true haunts of Bohemia! The Memphis Café—it is actually a club—was founded by Olaf van Noord two years ago, and at present has a membership including some of the most famous artistic folk of London; not only painters, but authors, composers, actors, actresses. I may add that the peerage, male and female, is represented.”
“It is actually a gaming-house, I suppose?” said Helen, shrewdly.
“A gaming-house? Not at all! If what you wish to see is play for high stakes, it is not to the Memphis Café you must go. I can show you Society losing its money in thousands, if the spectacle would amuse you. I only await your orders”…
“You certainly interest me,” said Helen; and indeed this half-glimpse into phases of London life hidden from the world—even from the greater part of the ever-peering journalistic world—was not lacking in fascination.
The planning of a scheme in its entirety constitutes a mental effort which not infrequently blinds us to the shortcomings of certain essential details. Denise’s plan, a good one in many respects, had the
