Thornton glanced around. There were only two people in the room and they appeared to be of the most harmless type. The barman was gazing over their heads at the lights of a small steamer on the horizon.
“I have a fancy that one of us ought to keep an eye on the Salle Privée,” he observed. “If there’s nothing doing there, I may see something of you later.”
After all, it was Roger who had the luck that evening. He was standing a little aimlessly behind the croupier at one of the roulette tables when he saw a young man seated in front of him withdraw a mille note from a little bundle fastened together with an elastic band and pass it up to the croupier.
“Première douzaine,” he instructed.
The croupier glanced at the mille note, placed a plaque upon the stake, but instead of passing the note itself into the box handed it with a significant glance to the chef. The young man appeared to take no notice and the game proceeded. The chef, however, had turned his head and raised his finger. One of those silent mysterious figures who wander about the rooms with the clothes and manner of an ambassador came unobtrusively forward. The chef moved his head in the direction of the young man and the newcomer took up his position behind his chair. The game proceeded for several spins without incident of any sort. The representative of the hidden powers of the Casino remained a motionless, unobtrusive figure, his hands behind his back, his eyes benevolently following the play. The young man, who appeared to be in a vein of luck, noticed no one. The time arrived, however, when he leaned back in his place and began to collect his chips. With a careless gesture he swept them into his pocket and rose to his feet.
“Vous gardez votre place, Monsieur?“ the valet enquired.
The young man slipped a tip into his hand.
“Finit pour ce soir.”
He strolled away, but before he could reach the door the official who had been standing behind him touched his arm apologetically.
“A little word, Monsieur,” he begged, with a glance at Roger and Thornton, who were lingering in the background.
“With me?” the young man asked.
“With you, if you please, Monsieur Froquet.”
They passed into the corridor together. The young man appeared unperturbed.
“Well, what is it that you desire?” he enquired.
“Monsieur Thiers, one of the directors, would like just a word with you, if you would give yourself the trouble to step into his office,” the official explained suavely. “You might perhaps be able to afford us assistance in a certain matter.”
The young man appeared mystified but made no objection and walked side by side with his companion down the passage. Thornton and Roger followed behind. When they reached the director’s room they were all three ushered in. The young man turned and looked with surprise at his two companions.
“What is this all about?” he demanded.
The director rose to his feet and bowed. He had recognised the young man at once.
“Monsieur Froquet,” he explained. “I will not beat about the bush. There are some mille notes in circulation, the origin of which we desire to trace. I gather from the fact that our inspector has brought you here that one of them has come into your possession.”
“That is so, Monsieur,” the official affirmed. “The chef told me that it was handed to him by Monsieur Froquet for a stake at the roulette table.”
He produced a note which the director scrutinised carefully.
“Tiens!” he exclaimed. “One perceives that the chef had keen eyes. It would be a great assistance to us all,” he added, “if Monsieur Froquet could tell us how he came into possession of this note?”
“It is not a forgery, I hope?” the young man asked, still without any signs of undue agitation.
“Certainly not,” the director assured him. “There is a slight peculiarity about it, however, which makes us anxious to discover its source.”
Monsieur Froquet frowned in perplexed fashion.
“And this gentleman here, whom I do not know,” he remarked, turning to Thornton. “And Mr. Roger Sloane, with whom I have once or twice exchanged civilities at the gaming table—what have they to do with it?”
“It happens to be their friend who has brought the matter before the authorities,” the director explained affably. “There is no question of the note not being genuine. It is simply that we beg you to assist us, Monsieur Froquet, by telling us from whom you received it.”
The young man smiled. He was very pale and thin and his hair shone almost like black varnish. He was dressed with the meticulous care of the young Frenchman of good social position.
“I find the affair a little quaint,” he remarked. “However, I am pleased to be able to satisfy your curiosity. The note was given me by your barman, Jack, about half an hour ago.”
The director touched a bell and spoke down the telephone. The young man seemed puzzled.
“It is not that you doubt my word, I trust?”
“Not for a moment, Monsieur,” the director assured him. “We are anxious to discover with as little delay as possible, however, how the note came into the possession of our barman.”
“It would appear to be treating me reasonably if you would tell me what it is all about,” Monsieur Froquet observed irritably. “I answer all your questions and I arrive here at the bureau of Monsieur le Directeur without demur. Has there been a robbery, perhaps?”
“An explanation is due to you, Monsieur Froquet,” the director acknowledged. “You shall have it in one moment.”
The door opened. Jack, the barman, still in his white coat, came in. The director leaned across.
“Monsieur Froquet here,” he said, “borrowed some money from you this evening.”
“Fifteen mille,” the barman acknowledged.
“I asked for twenty,” the young man put in, “but fifteen was all Jack had at the moment.”
The director concentrated upon Jack, the barman.
“Can you tell us,” he demanded, “from what source you got the fifteen mille which you gave to Monsieur Froquet?”
The barman was obviously perplexed.
“I’m afraid not, sir,” he admitted. “Not the particular fifteen mille you speak of. There were two mille Lady Harrison paid me back, directly we opened after dinner, and five mille Major Seddon paid back. The rest was what was left in the box since yesterday.”
“May I ask a question?” Thornton begged.
The director signified his assent.
“The fifteen mille which you advanced to Monsieur Froquet—was any one of those notes in your possession before seven o’clock this evening?”
“Certainly, sir,” the man replied. “We had an hour or so with no money coming in or going out. It has been rather a quiet day on the whole.”
There was a brief silence. Thornton scribbled something on a card and passed it to the director, who nodded thoughtfully.
“I have answered your questions,” Monsieur Froquet said a little curtly, “but I do not see that this matter concerns me in any way. The mille which I passed up to the croupier to change must have come from your bar because, as I say, I arrived with no money and went at once to Jack. The tracing of it is no concern of mine. I can do nothing more for you.”
“If I may be allowed to say a word,” Roger observed, “I