back to
his occupation of making the long deserted room look presentable.

As Bateato followed his master's friend into the room he switched on
the full glare of electric lights that depended from the ceiling or
blazed through the shades of many lamps. Whitney Barnes blinked for a
moment, and then started as his gaze was directed to the walls hung
with masterpieces.

The work of Rubens, Rembrandt, Coret, Meissonier, Lely, Cazzin, Vegas,
Fragonard, Reynolds and a score others of the world's greatest masters
leaped across his vision as he turned from wall to wall, revolving on
his heel.

"Whew!" he ejaculated. "I didn't know that Travers went in for this
sort of thing. He certainly is the secretive little oyster when he
wants to be."

Still studying the portraits and landscapes and allegorical groups, he
voiced to Bateato a sudden thought.

"By the way, Bateato, do you know what it was that brought your master
back in this strange fashion and the reason for all this secrecy?"

"No, sair," responded the Jap.

"Well, it's damned peculiar!" muttered the young man to himself, and
proceeded on a tour about the room to examine more closely its wealth
of art treasure. He had been engaged in this way about five minutes
when the door bell rang and Bateato cried:

"Here Mr. Gladwin now."

"How do you know that Bateato?" quizzed the young man absently, his
attention being gripped by a stunning aphrodite rising from the sea in
a glory of nudity and rainbows.

The Jap paused a second on his way to the door, and replied:

"'Cause no one know he home but Mr. Barnes. Thees house close up much
long time and Mr. Gladwin make papers say he in Egypt."

In the same breath in which he maximed this volley of words the little
Jap projectiled himself from the room.

"His deductions are marvellous," said Whitney Barnes, solemnly
addressing a bronze bust of Philip of Macedon. He turned in time to
meet the brisk entrance of Travers Gladwin, alias Thomas Smith of the
Ritz.

The two shook hands warmly and looked into each other's faces with
quizzical smiles. They were about of an age, both unusually good
looking and bearing themselves with that breezy, confident manner that
is characteristic of young men who have been coddled in swan's-down
all their lives.

"Well, well, well, Travers!"

"Hello, Whitney, old boy!"

The greeting sprang from their lips simultaneously, and after he had
tossed his hat and cane to his valet Travers