"We will not quarrel, Monsieur Martin," he said almost with a purr. "It
is not even necessary to return the compliment. It is so well
understood, why one employs your capable services."
The Englishman flushed. To defend his reputation would be a waste of
time.
"Madame la Comptesse d'Astaride," explained Jusseret, "has gone to
Cairo. She may require your wits as well as her own before the game is
played out. Join her there and take your instructions from her." As he
spoke the map-reviser began counting bills from his well-supplied purse.
Martin looked at them avidly, then objected with a surly frown.
"She sent me away once, and I don't particularly care for the Cairo
idea."
"This time she will not send you away." Jusseret glanced up with a bland
smile. "And it seems I remember a season, not so many years gone, when
you were a rather prominent personage upon the terrace of Shephard's.
You were quite an engaging figure of a man, Monsieur Martin, in flannels
and Panama hat, quite a smart figure!"
The Englishman scowled. "You delight, Monsieur, in touching the raw
spots--However, I daresay matters will go rippingly." He took the bills
and counted them into his own purse. "A chap can't afford to be too
sentimental or thin-skinned." He was thinking of a couple of clubs in
Cairo from which he had been asked to resign. Then he laughed callously
as he added aloud: "You see there's a regiment stationed there, just
now, which I'd rather not meet. I used to belong to its mess--once upon
a time."
Jusseret looked up at the renegade, then with a cynical laugh he rose.
"These little matters are inconvenient," he admitted, "but
embarrassments beset one everywhere. If one turns aside to avoid his
old regiment, who knows but he may meet his tailor insistent upon
payment--or the lady who was once his wife?"
He lighted a cigarette, then with the refined cruelty that enjoyed
torturing a victim who could not afford to resent his brutality, he
added: "But these army regulations are extremely annoying, I daresay--these
rules which proclaim it infamous to recognize one who--who has, under
certain circumstances, ceased to be a brother-officer."
The Englishman was leaning across the table, his cheek-bones red and his
eyes dangerous.
"By God, Jusseret, don't go too far!" he cautioned.
The Frenchman raised his hands in an apologetic gesture, but his eyes
still held a trace of the malevolent smile.
"A thousand pardons, my dear Martin," he begged. "I meant only to be
sympathetic."