“Mr. Kingley is a better player, though not so lucky,” Immelan acknowledged, with a little bow.

“Never believe it, with all due respect to our young friend here,” Sir Daniel replied, as he cut a card.  “Kingley plays like a man with brain but without subtlety.  In a duel between you two, I would back Immelan every time.”

Kingley took his place at the table with a little gesture of resignation.  He looked across the table to where Immelan sat displaying the card which he had just cut.  The eyes of the two men met.  A few seconds of somewhat significant silence followed.  Then Immelan gathered up the cards.

“I have the utmost respect for Mr. Kingley as an adversary,” he said.

The latter bowed a little ironically.

“May you always preserve that sentiment!  To-day, chance seems to have made us partners.  Your deal, Mr. Immelan.”

“What stakes?” the Prince enquired, settling himself down in his chair.

“They are for you to name,” Immelan declared.

The Prince laughed shortly.

“I believe you are as great a gambler at heart as I am,” he observed.

“With Mr. Kingley for my partner, and the game one of skill,” was the courteous reply, “I do not need to limit my stakes.”

A servant crossed the room, bringing a note upon a tray.  He presented it to Kingley, who opened and read it through without change of countenance.  When he had finished it, however, he laid his cards face downwards upon the table.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I owe you my most profound apologies.  I am called away at once on a matter of urgent business.”

“But this is most annoying,” the Prince declared irritably.

“Here comes my saviour,” Kingley remarked, as another man entered the card room.  “Henderson will take my place.  Glad I haven’t to break you up, after all.  Henderson, will you play a rubber?”

The newcomer assented.  Nigel Kingley made his adieux and crossed the room.  Immelan watched him curiously.

“What is our friend Kingley’s profession?” he enquired.

“He has no profession,” Sir Daniel replied.  “He has never come into touch with the sordid needs of these money-grubbing days.  He is the nephew and heir of the Earl of Dorminster.”

Immelan looked away from the retreating figure.

“Lord Dorminster,” he murmured.  “The same Lord Dorminster who was in the Government many years ago?”

“He was Foreign Secretary when I was Governor of Jamaica,” Sir Daniel answered.  “A very brilliant man he was in those days.”

Immelan nodded thoughtfully.

“I remember,” he said.

Nigel Kingley, on leaving the St. Philip’s Club, was driven at once, in the automobile which he found awaiting him, to a large corner house in Belgrave Square, which he entered with the air of an habitue.  The waiting major-domo took him at once in charge and piloted him across the hall.