“Those are sentiments, Monsieur Papadopoulos,” I remarked, “which do you infinite credit.”

“And, therefore, I express them, sir,” he replied, “to show you what manner of man I am.”  He paused for a moment; then bending forward, his hands on his little knees—­he was sitting far back in the chair and his legs were dangling like a child’s—­he regarded me intently.

“Would you be equally chivalrous for the sake of an idea?”

I replied that I hoped I should conduct myself en galant homme in any circumstances.

“I knew it,” he cried.  “My intuition is never wrong.  An English statesman is as fearless as Agamemnon, and as wise as Nestor.  Have you your evening free?”

“Yes,” I replied wonderingly.

“Would you care to devote it to a perilous adventure?  Not so perilous, for I”—­he thumped his chest—­“will be there.  But still molto gefahrlich.”

His black eyes held mine in burning intensity.  So as to hide a smile I lit a cigarette.  I know not what little imp in motley possessed me that evening.  He seemed to hit me over the head with his bladder, and counsel me to play the fool like himself, for once in my life before I died.  I could almost hear him speaking.

“Surely a crazy dwarf out of a nightmare is more entertaining company than decayed Colonels of British Cavalry.”

I blew two or three puffs of my cigarette, and met my guest’s eager gaze.

“I shall be happy to put myself at your disposal,” said I.  “May I ask, without indiscretion—?”

“No, no,” he interrupted, “don’t ask.  Secrecy is part of the gigantic combination. En galant homme, I require of you—­confidence.”

With an irresistible touch of mockery I said:  “Professor Papadopoulos, I will be happy to follow you blindfold to the lair of whatever fire-breathing dragon you may want me to help you destroy.”

He rose and grasped his hat and made me a profound bow.

“You will not find me wanting in courage, Monsieur.  There is another small favour I would ask of you.  Will you bring some of your visiting-cards?”

“With pleasure,” said I.

At that moment the gong clanged loudly through the hotel.

“It is your dinner-hour,” said the dwarf.  “I depart.  Our rendezvous—­”

“Let us have no rendezvous, my dear Professor,” I interposed.  “What more simple than that you should do me the pleasure of dining with me here?  We can thus fortify ourselves with food and drink for our adventure, and we can start on it comfortably together whenever it seems good to you.”

The little man put his head on one side and looked at me in an odd way.

“Do you mean,” he asked in a softened voice, “that you ask me to dine with you in the midst of your aristocratic compatriots?”

“Why, evidently,” said I, baffled.  “It’s only an ordinary table d’hote dinner.”

To my astonishment, tears actually spurted out of the eyes of the amazing little creature.  He took my hand and before I knew what he was going to do with it he had touched it with his lips.