The stroke was a brilliant one, but Bertrand did not immediately straighten himself as before.  He remained leaning across the table, as if he watched the effect of his skill.

There was a brief pause before very carefully he laid his cue upon the cloth and began to raise himself, slowly, with infinite caution, using both hands.

“No,” he said, speaking jerkily, in a rapid undertone, as if to himself.  “The gods—­are no more—­on my side.”

A sharp gasp escaped him.  He stood up, and they saw the sweat running down his forehead.  “Will you—­excuse me for a moment?” he said.  “I have—­forgotten quelque chose.”

He turned towards Chris with punctilious courtesy, clicked his heels together, bowed, and walked stiffly from the room.

CHAPTER XII

A MAN OF HONOUR

An amazed silence followed his exit; then, in a quick whisper, Chris spoke.

“He isn’t well.  I’m sure he isn’t well.  Did you see—­his face—­when he stood up?”

She turned with the words as if she would go after him, but Max checked her sharply.  “No, you stay here.  I’m going.”

She paused irresolute.  “Let me come too.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Max.  He frowned at her scared face for a moment, then smiled abruptly.  “Don’t be silly!” he said again.  He passed down the room with what seemed to her maddening deliberation, opened the door, and went quietly out.

Aunt Philippa was still busy with her correspondence in the drawing-room.  She glanced up as he went through.  “Can you tell me what time the evening post goes out?  I have just asked M. Bertrand, but he did not see fit to answer me.”

“Then he couldn’t have heard you,” said Max.  “The post goes out at nine-thirty.”

“Ah!  Then perhaps you would wait a moment while I direct this envelope, and you can then give it to a servant with orders to take it to the post-office at once.”

Max drew his red brows together and waited.

The scratching of Aunt Philippa’s pen filled in the pause.  She directed her envelope, blotted it with care, stamped it with precision, finally handed it to her nephew with the request, “Please remember that it is important.”

Max received it with reverence.  “I shall treat it with the utmost veneration,” he said.  He knew that his aunt had a strong dislike for him, and he fostered it with much enjoyment upon every possible occasion.

He slipped the letter into his pocket as he left the room and promptly dismissed it from his mind.

He turned aside into the dining-room, rummaged for brandy and found it, and went with noiseless speed upstairs.

The door of Bertrand’s room was unlatched, and he pushed it open without ceremony.  Blank darkness met him on the threshold, but a sound within told him the room was tenanted.  He switched on the light without delay, entered, and shut the door.