features. Leading the way to a door at the end of the hall, he opened it and announced in a respectful murmur: “ M. le Marquis. ”
The figure which rose to receive this strange guest was an imposing one. There was something venerable and patriarchal about M. Papopolous. He had a high domed forehead and a beautiful white beard. His manner had in it something ecclesiastical and benign.
“My dear friend,” said M. Papopolous.
He spoke in French and his tones were rich and unctuous.
“I must apologise,” said the visitor, “for the lateness of the hour.”
“Not at all. Not at all,” said M. Papopolous—“an interesting time of night. You have had, perhaps, an interesting evening?”
“Not personally,” said M. le Marquis.
“Not personally,” repeated M. Papopolous, “no, no, of course not. And there is news, eh?”
He cast a sharp glance sideways at the other, a glance that was not ecclesiastical or benign in the least.
“There is no news. The attempt failed. I hardly expected anything else.”
“Quite so,” said M. Papopolous; “anything crude—”
He waved his hand to express his intense distaste for crudity in any form. There was indeed nothing crude about M. Papopolous nor about the goods he handled. He was well known in most European courts, and kings called him Demetrius in a friendly manner. He had the reputation for the most exquisite discretion. That, together with the nobility of his aspect, had carried him through several very questionable transactions.