The sheen of his
tilted hat and of his shirt-front, the repeated twists he was giving to his
mustache, and most of all the magnificence of his sneer, gave token that
he was there only to be foiled.
He was at our table in a stride. "I am sorry," he sneered
witheringly, "to break up your pleasant party, but--"
"You don't; you complete it," I assured him. "Mr. Soames and I
want to have a little talk with you. Won't you sit? Mr. Soames got
nothing, frankly nothing, by his journey this afternoon. We don't wish to
say that the whole thing was a swindle, a common swindle. On the
contrary, we believe you meant well. But of course the bargain, such as
it was, is off."
The devil gave no verbal answer. He merely looked at Soames and
pointed with rigid forefinger to the door. Soames was wretchedly rising
from his chair when, with a desperate, quick gesture, I swept together
two dinner-knives that were on the table, and laid their blades across
each other. The devil stepped sharp back against the table behind him,
averting his face and shuddering.
"You are not superstitious!" he hissed.
"Not at all," I smiled.
"Soames," he said as to an underling, but without turning his face,
"put those knives straight!"
With an inhibitive gesture to my friend, "Mr. Soames," I said
emphatically to the devil, "is a Catholic diabolist"; but my poor
friend did the devil's bidding, not mine; and now, with his master's eyes
again fixed on him, he arose, he shuffled past me.
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