Helen Cumberly, though perfectly self-reliant, as only the modern girl journalist can be, was fully aware that, not being of the flat-haired, bespectacled type, she was called upon to exercise rather more care in her selection of companions for copy-hunting expeditions than was necessary in the case of certain fellow-members of the Scribes’ Club.  No power on earth could have induced her to accept such an invitation from such a man, under ordinary circumstances; even now, with so definite and important an object in view, she hesitated.  The scheme might lead to nothing; Denise Ryland (horrible thought!) might lose the track; the track might lead to no place of importance, so far as her real inquiry was concerned.

In this hour of emergency, new and wiser ideas were flooding her brain.  For instance, they might have admitted Inspector Dunbar to the plot.  With Inspector Dunbar dogging her steps, she should have felt perfectly safe; but Denise—­she had every respect for Denise’s reasoning powers, and force of character—­yet Denise nevertheless might fail her.

She glanced into the crooked eyes of Gianapolis, then up again at Palace Mansions.

The shadow of Henry Leroux recrossed the cream-curtained window.

“So early in the evening,” pursued the Greek, rapidly, “the more interesting types will hardly have arrived; nevertheless, at the Memphis Cafe"...

“Memphis Cafe!” 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 Cafe—­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 Cafe 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 fault of being over-elaborate.  Now, when it was too late to advise her friend of any amendment, Helen perceived that there was no occasion for her to suffer the society of Gianapolis.

To bid him good evening, and then to follow him, herself, was a plan much superior to that of keeping him company whilst Denise followed both!