“A moment, mon vieux. I have again the hunch. It will happen tonight.”

“What, for the Lord’s sake, will happen? The mummy seeks her ease, or you elope with Lili? Or challenge your rival the Marquis?”

“Anything is more than likely to happen tonight. I hear that Monsieur the Marquis has gone to Spain. And Mademoiselle Allzaneau will receive no visitors this evening, not even me. And so on … I have the hunch, as you so elegantly put it, that hell will be popping tonight.”

“Well, where do I come in?”

“You? You shall follow her should she leave her apartment; follow her, and see it to a finish, whatever it be. It may be to a strange place, mon vieux; therefore, take these with you.”

He passed me a Luger automatic, a blackjack, and what appeared to be a left-handed, fingerless, mailed glove—strangely like a Roman cestus, at least as to its obvious purpose.

“Looks like trouble, Pierre,” I remarked, as I strapped the Luger and its holster under my left arm. “But why this glove …? And … what the devil! A peacock decorating it!”

“Yes. It may serve you well. If you are accosted, exhibit the peacock, and you will be passed on without question.”

“Lay off, Pierre, lay off! Have you a dime novel complex?”

“Mais non. Do not laugh. You may have no occasion to try it. But remember the peacock. A full moon will make your task easier, or more difficult … that depends … As for me … we may meet unexpectedly. But if not, see it to a finish, and do not fail me.”

With this command firmly impressed upon me, I took my post, wondering at the assortment of junk which he had forced upon me. A Luger … well, that was sound judgment; a pistol is an excellent playmate. And a blackjack could conceivably come in handy. But that fingerless glove with its peacock!

Nearly midnight. Not a car in front of her apartment all evening. La Belle Allzaneau evidently was carrying on revery and not riot during the absence of her lover in Spain.

A copper kettle of a moon was rising.

“Do not fail me. Follow her and use your judgment.”

Well, and into what sort of mess would Pierre be venturing in the meanwhile? Rich entertainment somewhere for someone!

Lord, what a sleepy night! Silence along rue Lachepaillet, and more silence in the park beneath me, beyond the dry moat that girdled the walls. The night before Christmas was fairly spiked to the mast for pure stillness.

Follow Lili … where? Why the pistol, the blackjack, the ornamental brass knuckles? Brass, the devil! I’d have sworn they were gold … or perhaps it was the moonlight.

A light in Lili’s window, just for a moment. Then darkness again. And then the door on the rez-de-chaussée opened. Lili herself, in a gown of star-dusted, metallic luster stepped into the street, crossed, paused within a meter of my lurking place.