The door opened about six inches, and a man’s dark-moustachioed face appeared.

“Vous desirez, Messieurs?”

As I had not the remotest idea what we desired, I let Anastasius be spokesman.

“Here is an English milord,” said Anastasius boldly, “who would like to be admitted for the evening to the privileges of the Club.”

“Enter, gentlemen,” said the man, who appeared to be the porter.

We found ourselves in a small vestibule.  In front of us was a large door, on the right a small one, both closed.  At a table by the large door sat a dirty, out-of-elbows raven of a man reading a newspaper.  The latter looked up and addressed me.

“You wish to enter the Club, Monsieur?”

I had no particular longing to do so, but I politely answered that such was my desire.

“If you will give your visiting-card, I will submit it to the Secretariat.”

I produced my card; Anastasius thrust a pencil into my hand.

“Write my name on it, too.”

I obeyed.  The raven sent the porter with the card into the room on the right, and resumed the perusal of his soiled newspaper.  I looked at Anastasius.  The little man was quivering with excitement.  The porter returned after a few minutes with a couple of pink oval cards which he handed to each of us.  I glanced at mine.  On it was inscribed:  Cercle Africain d’Alger.  Carte de Member Honoraire.  Une soiree.  And then there was a line for the honorary member’s signature.  The raven man dipped a pen in the ink-pot in front of him and handed it to me.

“Will you sign, Messieurs?”

We executed this formality; he retained the cards, and opening the great door, said: 

“Entrez, Messieurs!”

The door closed behind us.  It was simply a tripot, or gambling-den.  And all this solemn farce of Secretariats and cartes d’entree to obtain admission!  It is curious how the bureaucratic instinct is ingrained in the French character.

It was a large, ill-ventilated room, blue with cigarette and cigar smoke.  Some thirty men were sitting or standing around a baccarat table in the centre, and two or three groups hung around ecarte tables in the corners.  A personage who looked like a slightly more prosperous brother of the raven outside and wore a dinner-jacket, promenaded the room with the air of one in authority.  He scrutinised us carefully from a distance; then advanced and greeted us politely.

“You have chosen an excellent evening,” said he.  “There are a great many people, and the banks are large.”

He bowed and passed on.  A dingy waiter took our hats and coats and hung them up.  Anastasius plucked me by the sleeve.

“If you don’t mind staking a little for the sake of appearances, I shall be grateful.”

I whispered:  “Can you tell me now, my dear Professor, for what reason you have brought me to this gaming-hell?”