"Dine with me at the Bizarre this evening
at seven."
"If I lose, with pleasure. Otherwise, you are to be my guest."
"It's a bargain."
"And--that being understood," pursued P. Sybarite curiously--"perhaps
you won't mind explaining your grounds for this conspicuous
confidence."
"Not in the least," said the other, pulling comfortably at his
cigar--"that is, if you're willing to come through with a little
information. I'm curious to know how you came to butt in here on my
personal card of introduction. Where did you get it?"
"Found it in a hat left in my possession by a gentleman in a great
hurry, whom I much desired to see again, and therefore--presuming him
to be Mr. Bailey Penfield--came here to find."
"A gentleman unknown to you?"
"Entirely: a tall young man with an ugly mouth; rather fancies
himself, I should say: a bit of a bounder. You recognise this sketch?"
"Perhaps ..." Penfield murmured thoughtfully.
"His name?"
"Maybe he wouldn't thank me for telling you that."
"Very well. Now then: why and how are you going to separate me from my
winnings?"
"By force," said Mr. Penfield with engaging candour. "It desolates me
to descend to rough-neck methods, but I am a larger, stronger man than
you, Mr.--"
"Sybarite," said the little man, flushing, "P.--by the grace of
God!--Sybarite."
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sybarite.
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