quietly, his eye on a spot behind Gramont. "One of your friends is headed over this way, and if I know anything about it, he's got blood in his eye."
Gramont turned, to see Bob Maillard approaching. The latter addressed him without any response to his greeting.
"Have you a moment to spare, Gramont?"
"All afternoon," answered Gramont, cheerfully. He affected not to observe Maillard's air of heavy business, nor the frowning suspicion that lurked half-veiled in the other's glowering features. "By the way, I've been looking up a New Orleans landmark without much success—the Ramos gin fizz establishment. It seems to be gone!"
"It is," returned Maillard, sourly. "Prohibition killed it, like it's killing everything. François moved into the place last September from Old 27, and it's become his restaurant now. But look here, Gramont!" The two were standing a bit apart, and Hammond was fussing with one of the headlights, but Gramont suspected that the chauffeur was listening avidly. "I've just come from a talk with dad. How did it happen that you sold him that stock of yours in the company?
