le of the man who stood now upon the threshold, gazing in upon the
room. The expression of the two alone was different. The newcomer was
furiously angry, and looked it. The sham Mr. Von Tassen was very much at
his ease. It was he who broke the silence, and his voice was curiously
free from all trace of emotion. He was looking his double over with an
air of professional interest.

"On the whole," he said, calmly, "very good. A little stouter, I
perceive, and the eyebrows a trifle too regular. Of course, when you
make faces at me like that, it is hard to judge of the expression. I can
only say that I did the best I could."

"Who the devil are you, masquerading in my name?" the newcomer demanded,
with emphasis. "This man is an impostor!" he added, turning to Andrea
Korust. "What is he doing at your table?"

Andrea leaned forward and his face was an evil thing to look upon.

"Who are you?" he hissed out.

The sham Mr. Von Tassen turned away for a moment and stooped down. The
trick has been done often enough upon the stage, often in less time, but
seldom with more effect. The wonderful wig disappeared, the spectacles,
the lines in the face, the make-up of diabolical cleverness. With his
back to the wall and his fingers playing with something in his pocket,
Peter, Baron de Grost, smiled upon his host.

"Since you insist upon knowing--the Baron de Grost, at your service!" he
announced.

Andrea Korust was, for the moment, speechless. One of the women
shrieked. The real Mr. Von Tassen looked around him helplessly.

"Will some one be good enough to enlighten me as to the meaning of
this?" he begged. "Is it a roast? If so, I only want to catch on. Let me
get to the joke, if there is one. If not, I should like a few words of
explanation from you, sir," he added, addressing Peter.

"Presently," the latter replied. "In the meantime, let me persuade you
that I am not the only impostor here."

He seized a glass of water and dashed it in the face of Mr. Van Jool.
There was a moment's scuffle, and no more of Mr. Van Jool. What emerged
was a good deal like the shy Maurice Korust, who accompanied his brother
at the music hall, but whose distaste for these gatherings had been
Andrea's continual lament. The Baron de Grost stepped back once more
against the wall. His host was certainly looking dangerous. Mademoiselle
Celaire was leaning forward, staring through the gloom with distended
eyes. Around the table every head was turned t