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"I HAVE THE MATE OF YOUR CUFF LINK, YOU PRECIOUS SCAMP
As Marchmont slipped out of his clothes and into the rather musty bedding, he rolled over rather abruptly. Just as he expected, the rusty bedsprings groaned in noisy protest. But he trusted that the sounds would be sweet and reassuring music to Lucie in the room next door.
„On the following morning he called on Count de Varnes.
The Frenchman held out his left hand in greeting, and looked down whimsically at his right wrist which lay ensconced in a sling.
"The hazards of racing," he explained. "The brute of a car backfired as I started to crank it, and here I am hors de combat."
Marchmont took on a look of deep commiseration. It was all he could do to keep from asking the Count if he had enjoyed the fire and the artful trunk strap.
"I'm more or less of a surgeon," he said ; "will you let me examine your wrist?"
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De Varnes held out the injured member, and Marchmont deftly felt the bandages.
"And now your left hand," commanded Marchmont.
The Count willingly delivered his uninjured hand to his visitor, who unfastened the cuff link and examined the wrist bones carefully.
"It is not at all serious," pronounced Marchmont ; "you have wonderful cartpal bones and muscles. The bones are not even fractured, but the muscles are torn a bit/'
De A'^arnes smiled delightfully upon him, and all the while the words kept singing in Marchmont's brain : "I have the mate to your cuff link, you precious scamp !"
The conversation drifted into things financial, and in illustrating a point Marchmont happened to mention the name of Cadwallader Bennt. Thereat a curious, baleful blaze, behind a deep curtain of lashes, lit up the velvet eyes of De Varnes.