Nobody dared talk naturally for fear of being identified. When a man
did open his mouth it was only to commit some banal idiocy, for which,
during office hours, he would have been haled to the nearest insane
asylum and labeled incurable. Added to this was a heat matching
Sahara's and the oppressive odor of weltering paint.
By Jove! Only one man knew that the back of my card was unlike the
others: the man who had picked it up in old Friard's curio-shop, the
man who had come to Blankshire with me! I knew now. He had been there
buying a costume like myself. He had seen me on the train, and had
guessed the secret. I elbowed my way out of the smoking-room. It
wouldn't do me a bit of harm to ask a few polite questions of Mr.
Caesar of the sardonic laugh.
But I had lost the golden opportunity. Caesar had gone to join the
shades of other noble Romans; in vain I searched high and low for him.
Once I ran into Hamilton. His face was pale and disturbed and anxious.
"What's the trouble, Hamilton?" I asked, with forced gaiety.
He favored me with a penetrating glance.
"The very devil is the trouble," he growled. "Several of the ladies
have begun to miss valuable jewels. Anne of Austria has lost her
necklace and Queen Elizabeth is without a priceless comb; altogether,
about ten thousand dollars.
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