; handsome
French bronzes, dainty china on Japanese teakwood tables, antique
furniture, gold-embroidered clerical vestments, hand-painted screens,
costly Oriental rugs, rare ceramics--all were confusedly jumbled
together. On a grand piano in a corner of the room stood two tall
cloisonne vases of almost inestimable value. On a desk close by were
piled miniatures and rare ivories. The walls were covered with
tapestries, armor, and trophies of arms. More like a museum than a
sitting room, it was the home of a man who made a business of art or
made of art a business.

Underwood stared moodily at the glowing logs in the open chimneyplace.
His face was pale and determined. After coming in from the restaurant he
had changed his tuxedo for the more comfortable house coat. Nothing
called him away that particular Sunday evening, and no one was likely to
disturb him. Ferris, his man-servant, had taken his usual Sunday off and
would not return until midnight. The apartment was still as the grave.
It was so high above the street that not a sound reached up from the
noisy Broadway below. Underwood liked the quiet so that he could think,
and he was thinking hard. On the flat desk at his elbow stood a dainty
_demi-tasse_ of black coffee--untasted. There were glasses and decanters
of whiskey and cordial, but the stimulants did not tempt him.

He wondered if Alicia would ignore his letter or if she would come to
him. Surely she could not be so heartless as to throw him over at such a
moment. Crushed in his left hand was a copy of the _New York Herald_
containing an elaborate account of the brilliant reception and musicale
given the previous evening at her home. With an exclamation of
impatience he rose from his seat, threw the paper from him, and began to
pace the floor.

Was this the end of everything? Had he reached the end of his rope? He
must pay the reckoning, if not to-day, to-morrow. As his eyes wandered
around the room and he took mental inventory of each costly object, he
experienced a sudden shock as he recalled the things that were missing.
How could he explain their absence? The art dealers were already
suspicious. They were not to be put off any longer with excuses. Any
moment they might insist either on the immediate return of their
property or on payment in full. He was in the position to do neither.
The articles had been sold and the money lost gambling. Curse the luck!
Everything had gone against him of late. The deal