She glanced into the crooked eyes of Gianapolis, then up again at Palace
Mansions.
The shadow of Henry Leroux recrossed the cream-curtained window.
"So early in the evening," pursued the Greek, rapidly, "the more
interesting types will hardly have arrived; nevertheless, at the Memphis
Cafe"...
"Memphis Cafe!" muttered Helen, glancing at him rapidly; "what an odd
name."
"Ah! my dear Miss Cumberly!" cried Gianapolis, with triumph--"I knew
that you had never heard of the true haunts of Bohemia! The Memphis
Cafe--it is actually a club--was founded by Olaf van Noord two years
ago, and at present has a membership including some of the most famous
artistic folk of London; not only painters, but authors, composers,
actors, actresses. I may add that the peerage, male and female, is
represented."
"It is actually a gaming-house, I suppose?" said Helen, shrewdly.
"A gaming-house? Not at all! If what you wish to see is play for high
stakes, it is not to the Memphis Cafe you must go. I can show you
Society losing its money in thousands, if the spectacle would amuse you.
I only await your orders"...
"You certainly interest me," said Helen; and indeed this half-glimpse
into phases of London life hidden from the world--even from the
greater part of the ever-peering journalistic world--was not lacking in
fascination.
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