“I wonder whether M’sieur would care to become a member of the Club,” he said in a low voice.  “I do not press M’sieur to do so!  But you see, both Madame Bailey and her friends are members of the Club, and it is almost certain that it is there we shall find them.  I fear it is no use our going to the Playing Rooms downstairs.”

The Playing Rooms?  Sylvia a member of a club?  And—­for Chester’s quick, legal mind had leapt on the fact—­of a gambling club?

No, that was incredible.

“I think there must be some mistake,” he said distantly.  “I do not think that Mrs. Bailey is a member of a club.”

M. Polperro looked very much surprised.

“Oh, yes, indeed she is,” he answered confidently.  “It is only the quite common people who content themselves, M’sieur, with risking a franc and playing the little games.  But just as M’sieur likes—­” he shrugged his shoulders.  “I do not press M’sieur to become a member of the Club.”

Without answering, Chester paid the couple of francs admission for himself and his companion, and they walked slowly through the lower rooms, threading their way through the crowd.

“You see, M’sieur, I was right!  Madame Bailey is in the Club!”

“Very well.  Let us go to the Club,” said Chester, impatiently.

He was beginning, or so he thought, to understand.  The Club was evidently a quiet, select part of the Casino, with a reading room and so on.  Sylvia had probably made friends with some French people in her hotel, and they had persuaded her to join the Club.

He was beginning to throw off his tiredness; the unaccustomed atmosphere in which he found himself amused and interested, even if it rather shocked him.

Ten minutes later he also, thanks to the kind offices of M. Polperro, and by the payment of twenty francs, found himself a member of the Club; free of that inner sanctuary where the devotees of the fickle goddess play with gold instead of silver; and where, as even Chester could see, the people who stood round the table, risking with quiet, calculating eyes their twenty-franc pieces and bank-notes, were of a very different social standing from the merry, careless crowd downstairs.

In the Baccarat Room most of the men were in evening clothes, and the women with them, if to Chester’s eyes by no means desirable or reputable-looking companions, were young, pretty, and beautifully dressed.

Still, the English lawyer felt a thrill of disgust at the thought that Sylvia Bailey could possibly be part of such a company.

Baccarat was being played at both tables, but the crowd of players centred rather round one than the other, as is almost always the way.

M. Polperro touched his companion on the arm.  “And now, M’sieur,” he said briefly, “I will with your permission depart home.  I think you will find Madame Bailey at that further table.”

Chester shook the owner of the Villa du Lac cordially by the hand.  The little man had been really kind and helpful.  It was a pity there was no vacant room in his hotel.