"
"All right," said the American, with a little pucker of the brow which
told that he did not wholly like Mr. Collins. 'Fire ahead."
"First, if you don't mind," said the Englishman, looking about him, "I
think we'd better get out of this crowd."
"Suppose we go up to my rooms," suggested Rushford, rising. "We'll be
free from interruption there, and can thresh the whole thing out."
"Thank you," assented Collins. "Of course, I understand," he continued,
in a louder voice, as they started toward the door, "that the question
of stocks is always a very complicated one, and very difficult for a
layman to understand, but a man of your experience--"
The door of the elevator-car closed behind them, and he stopped.
"Whose benefit was that for?" asked Rushford.
"For the benefit of a French police spy, who was trying his best to
overhear our conversation."
"A police spy? Did you know him?"
"I know his class; it's impossible to mistake it. They all look
alike--it's a type which even the comic opera has been unable to
burlesque. You probably noticed him--all moustache, imperial, and
lavender gloves."
"Oh, him? Yes, I've seen him. And I've been rather itching to apply my
boot to his coat-tails. I thought he was a cheap actor--a ten, twenty,
thirty, as we say in America.
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