“Yes,” Cooley interpolated, “and with woolly little lambkins, too.”

“Well,” chuckled Cornish, “that’s the way they make their living, you know.”

“Go on and tell him the rest of it,” urged Cooley.

“About Lady Mount-Rhyswicke,” said Cornish, “it seems strange enough, but she has a perfect right to her name.  She is a good deal older than she looks, and I’ve heard she used to be remarkably beautiful.  Her third husband was Lord George Mount-Rhyswicke, a man who’d been dropped from his clubs, and he deserted her in 1903, but she has not divorced him.  It is said that he is somewhere in South America; however, as to that I do not know.”

Mr. Cornish put the very slightest possible emphasis on the word “know,” and proceeded: 

“I’ve heard that she is sincerely attached to him and sends him money from time to time, when she has it—­though that, too, is third-hand information.  She has been declasse ever since her first divorce.  That was a ‘celebrated case,’ and she’s dropped down pretty far in the world, though I judge she’s a good deal the best of this crowd.  Exactly what her relations to the others are I don’t know, but I imagine that she’s pretty thick with ’em.”

“Just a little!” exclaimed Cooley.  “She sits behind one of the lambkins and Helene behind the other while they get their woolly wool clipped.  I suppose the two of ’em signaled what was in every hand we held, though I’m sure they needn’t have gone to the trouble!  Fact is, I don’t see why they bothered about goin’ through the form of playin’ cards with us at all.  They could have taken it away without that!  Whee!” Mr. Cooley whistled loud and long.  “And there’s loads of wise young men on the ocean now, hurryin’ over to take our places in the pens.  Well, they can have mine!  Funny, Mellin:  nobody would come up to you or me in the Grand Central in New York and try to sell us greenbacks just as good as real.  But we come over to Europe with our pockets full o’ money and start in to see the Big City with Jesse James in a false mustache on one arm, and Lucresha Borgy, under an assumed name, on the other!”

“I am afraid I agree with you,” said Cornish; “though I must say that, from all I hear, Madame de Vaurigard might put an atmosphere about a thing which would deceive almost any one who wasn’t on his guard.  When a Parisienne of her sort is clever at all she’s irresistible.”

“I believe you,” Cooley sighed deeply.

“Yesterday evening, Mr. Mellin,” continued the journalist, “when I saw the son of my old friend in company with Welch and Sneyd, of course I tried to warn him.  I’ve often seen them in Paris, though I believe they have no knowledge of me.  As I’ve said, they are notorious, especially Welch, yet they have managed, so far, to avoid any difficulty with the Paris police, and, I’m sorry to say, it might be hard to actually prove anything against them.  You couldn’t prove that anything was crooked last night, for instance.  For that matter, I don’t suppose you want to.  Mr. Cooley wishes to accept his loss and bear it, and I take it that that will be your attitude, too.  In regard to the note you gave Sneyd, I hope you will refuse to pay; I don’t think that they would dare press the matter.”