To a person of less even temperament than Richard the unexpected appearance of these three gentlemen marching in the wake of nickel plated shooting irons might well have aroused feelings of alarm and indignation. But for a matter of some four years Richard had been shot over pretty thoroughly and the lessons of calm learnt in the hard school of war did not desert him in the present situation. He felt, moreover, a curious certainty that the chance of bullets flying around was pretty remote. The primary necessity was to keep his head and avoid any word or action that might betray the fact that he was not the man they believed him to be. The name Van Diest, which had occurred in his conversation with the girl, came quickly to his brain and he glanced from one to another in the hope of determining whether its bearer was present.

His eyes were held by a short rotund person of advanced middle age who occupied the centre of the room. In outline this person was distinctly Dutch. His face was heavily pleated, with dewlaps pendant from the jaw. He wore side whiskers that did not make a good pair and dark bushy brows almost concealed his small, twinkly eyes. He possessed very little hair, but what there was had been pasted in thin separated strands across the shiny bald pate. A low collar of enormous circumference encircled his short neck and his tie was drawn through a Zodiac ring. His clothes were ill-fitting—shapeless trousers and a voluminous morning coat, in the buttonhole of which was a pink carnation with a silver papered stem, an immense watch-chain spread across a coarsely knitted waistcoat of Berlin wool. And he seemed out of breath. The pistol in his extended hand vibrated in sympathy with an accelerated pulse rate.

Richard's left hand wandered carelessly to his hip.

"Look here, Mr. Van Diest," he said, "were you never taught that it's rude to point?"

A twang like the snapping of a 'cello string brought his head round sharply.

"Hands away from your side pocket."

It was less of an invitation than an order.

The speaker was a big, broad-shouldered American of the thruster school, heavy jaw, black hair and hurry. He held his gun dead rigid against his thigh and there was that in his eyes which foretold that where he looked he could hit. This was Ezra P. Hipps.

"Set down and don't move—this thing goes off," he said.

Richard considered the proposal and the speaker and judged both to be sound.

"Thanks," he said, "I'd like a stall for this entertainment," and dropped into a chair.

The man who was standing behind Van Diest came forward and smiled gracefully. He was sleek and too well dressed and gave the appearance of being out of his natural element and ashamed of the one in which he found himself.

"You remember me, Barraclough, old fellow," he said, swinging his pistol as though it were a cane.

"I'm a terror for forgetting trifles," Richard replied sweetly.
"Remind me."

"Oliver Laurence. Met you in '11 at old Dick Harris' place."

"Good old Dick," said Richard in the spirit of the scene. "But as I was about to remark, here we all are, gentlemen, and what happens next?"

Hugo Van Diest flickered his eyes at Auriole and asked in a soft guttural voice:

"You prevail—yes?"

Auriole shook her head.

"Mr. Barraclough refuses," she said.

Van Diest drew in his breath between shut teeth and Oliver Laurence sighed sadly.

"Refuse."

"'Fraid so," nodded Richard.

"You know vot is it dot we ask?"

"Perfectly, but if you'd care to repeat it——"

Ezra P. Hipps rapped his free hand on a chair back.

"Don't get fresh," he snapped, "we're after business."

"Sorry," said Richard. "Thought it was a kind of Wild West act."

Evidently Van Diest wanted to avoid a row. He approached the subject in his most agreeable tone which sounded like a puma purring.

"Twendy per cent and a million pounds for der map. A man like you he can't spend a million pounds in a lifetime."

"Don't be too sure," said Richard unwisely. "I might have inherited the knack."

"Let's hear a price."

Richard turned to the American with a grin.

"Honestly," he replied, "anything you got from me would be dear at a shilling."

The friendly quality died out of Van Diest's voice.

"We was very sincere, Mr. Barraclough."

"Oh, that's fine," said Richard.

Oliver Laurence laid a soothing hand on his shoulder and the touch of the man was beastly. It inspired an instant and substantial dislike. Richard rounded on him with his first show of temper and brushed away the hand.

"Look here, Daisy," he said. "Better not touch the exhibits unless you want to be hurt."

And at this point Ezra P. Hipps showed himself a man of action.

"Guess what you won't give we'll have to take. Keys?"

"Take 'em by all means," said Richard, fishing the bunch from his pocket. "Tell me if you find anything."

"It will save a lot of troubles to you if we find something," murmured
Van Diest.

There was a distinct menace in the words but Richard was too interested in the activities of Ezra P. Hipps to pay heed to that. With lightning-like rapidity the American had unlocked every drawer in the bureau, withdrawn them from their runners and laid them in a precise row on the floor.

"Guessed it," he ejaculated. "Simple. One of 'em is shorter than the rest."

He dived a hand into the cavity lately filled by the short drawer and produced a small steel despatch box.

"The goods!"

Richard leaned forward with a sudden impulse to prevent the box being opened but the caressing muzzle of Van Diest's revolver coaxed him back to the chair.

"Very simple," said Van Diest. "Maps inside. Open it."

Hipps wasted little time trying to find a key that would fit. He put the box on the floor and kicked it scientifically. From the wreckage he rescued a neat roll of parchment with a tape round its waist. Once again he remarked "The goods!" whisked off the tape and spread out the parchment.

"Writing."

"Read it."

And he read.

"That would be altogether too easy, gentlemen. Perhaps there isn't a map after all."

Richard settled himself comfortably with a sigh of satisfaction and the three men turned to look at him.

"Don't blame me," he said sweetly, "I never said there was a map, did
I?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Auriole with a flush of what might easily have been taken for pleasure on her cheeks. It was very perplexing.

"Hm!" Van Diest nodded. "Hm! A wise man keep this sort of informations in his head."

"'Course he does."

"Yes, yes. Mr. Barraclough, a great deal you oblige by coming with us to an apartment we have prepared for your receptions."

"It's nice of you but I'm very comfortable here."

"I'm afraid we must insist."

"Since you're so pressing."

"And as a gentleman you make no troubles—no noise."

"There's no such thing as a noisy gentleman."

Ezra P. Hipps rapped the butt of his automatic on the table top.

"You can keep the cross-talking for the automobile," he said. "We're through here—step out."

As they moved toward the door Laurence slipped a hand through Richard's arm.

"My dear old fellow," he said, "if you only knew how distasteful all this is to me."

Richard drew his arm away sharply.

"So's that to me," he said, brushing his sleeve with the deliberate will to offend. Then he turned and bowed to Auriole. "Your friends are amusing but I'm afraid they are going to waste a lot of time. Are you coming our way?"