nton stuttered out an affirmative response. Then both arose after
paying their checks, and the organist shook the burglar's hand at the
corner, after first exacting a promise that Blastion should play for him
some morning.

"With pleasure, my boy. You're a gentleman and an artist, and I trust
you absolutely." And he walked away, whistling with rare skill the D
flat valse of Chopin.

"You can trust me, I swear!" Pinton called after him, and then went
unsteadily homeward, full of generous resolves and pianistic ambitions.
As he intermittently undressed he discovered, to his rage and amazement,
that both his purse and watch had disappeared. The one was well filled;
the other, gold. Blastion's technic had proved unimpeachable.

XVI

AN IRON FAN

Effinghame waited for Dr. Arn in the study, a small chamber crowded with
the contents of the universe--so it seemed to the visitor. There was a
table unusual in size, indeed, big enough to dissect a body thereon. It
was littered with books and medical publications and was not very
attractive. The walls were covered with original drawings of famous
Japanese masters, and over the fireplace hung a huge fan, dull gray in
colouring, with long sandalwood spokes. Not a noteworthy example of
Japanese art, thought Effinghame, as he glanced without marked curiosity
at its neutral tinting, though he could not help wondering why the
cunning artificers of the East had failed to adorn the wedge-shaped
surfaces of this fan with their accustomed bold and exquisite
arabesques.

He impatiently paced the floor. His friend had told him to come at nine
o'clock in the evening. It was nearly ten. Then he began to finger
things. He fumbled the papers in the desk. He examined the two Japanese
swords--light as ivory, keen as razors. He stared at each of the prints,
at Hokusai, Toyokimi, Kuniyoshi, Kiyonaga, Kiosai, Hiroshighe, Utamaro,
Oukoyo-Ye,--the doctor's taste was Oriental. And again he fell to
scrutinizing the fan. It was large, ugly, clumsy. What possessed Arn to
place such a sprawling affair over his mantel? Tempted to touch it, he
discovered that it was as silky as a young bat's wing. At last, his
curiosity excited, he lifted it with some straining to the floor. What
puzzled him was its weight. He felt its thin ribs, its soft, paper-like
material, and his fingers chilled as they closed on the two outermost
spokes. They were of metal, whether steel or iron he could not
determine. A q