They found a little table near the wall and he ordered some pate sandwiches and champagne.

Whilst they waited she counted up her money, making calculations on a slip of paper.
Draconmeyer leaned back in his chair, watching her.

His back was towards the door and they were at the end table.

He permitted himself the luxury of looking at her almost greedily; of dropping, for a few moments, the mask which he placed always upon his features in her presence.

In his way the man was an artist, a great collector of pictures and bronzes, a real lover and seeker after perfection.