It was a large, ill-ventilated room, blue with cigarette and cigar
smoke. Some thirty men were sitting or standing around a baccarat table
in the centre, and two or three groups hung around _ecarte_ tables in
the corners. A personage who looked like a slightly more prosperous
brother of the raven outside and wore a dinner-jacket, promenaded the
room with the air of one in authority. He scrutinised us carefully from
a distance; then advanced and greeted us politely.
"You have chosen an excellent evening," said he. "There are a great many
people, and the banks are large."
He bowed and passed on. A dingy waiter took our hats and coats and hung
them up. Anastasius plucked me by the sleeve.
"If you don't mind staking a little for the sake of appearances, I shall
be grateful."
I whispered: "Can you tell me now, my dear Professor, for what reason
you have brought me to this gaming-hell?"
He looked up at me out of his mournful eyes and murmured, "_Patienza,
lieber Herr_." Then spying a vacant place behind the chairs at the
baccarat table, he darted thither, and I followed in his wake.
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