l with the
interesting. Romance is a shy bird, and not to be hunted with a brass
band. Where is the heart of life, if not at one's elbow? At the
farthest, one has only to turn the corner of the street. It is useless
to look for prodigies in the abyss, but every stream has its straws
that float; I have determined to watch and follow them.

"I want a companion, and so I advertised after my own fashion. I
selected you, tentatively, from the mob; later on I made the test more
complete. But you have no boutonniere; allow me."

He took a spray of orchid from the silver bowl in the centre of the
table and handed it to me.

I protested: "I have my gardenia--" I looked at my button-hole and it
was gone.

Mr. Indiman smiled. "Let me confess," he said. "You recall the abnormal
tension of your nerves as you sat waiting in my reception-room. Merely
the effect produced by a mixture of certain chemical gases turned on
from a tap under my hand. Then the crash of a brazen gong; it is what
the scientists call 'massive stimulation,' resolving super-excitation
into partial hypnosis.

"Once I had you in the hypnotic condition, the rest was simple enough.
I had only to suggest to your mind the three objects on the table, and
you saw them. The bank-note, the revolver--they were as immaterial as
the gardenia that no longer adorns your button-hole.

"I did not attempt to influence your choice among the three, as that
would have destroyed the value of the test to me. But, as I had hoped,
you accepted my invitation to dinner. Frankly, now, I am curious--why?"

"That is very simple," I answered. "I had not eaten anything for two
days, and I detected the odor of that exquisite filet. Not the
slightest ethical significance in the choice, as you see."

Esper Indiman laughed. "I should have kept my pantry door closed. But
it does not matter; I am satisfied. Shall we go into the library for
coffee?"

Directly opposite the door of the latter apartment stood an easel
holding an unframed canvas. A remarkable portrait--little as I know
about pictures, I could see that clearly enough. A three-quarter length
of a woman wearing a ducal coronet and dressed in a magnificent costume
of red velvet.

"Lely's 'Red Duchess,'" remarks my host, carelessly. "You may have seen
it in the Hermitage at Petersburg."

I looked at the picture again. Why should this masterpiece not have
been properly mounted and glazed? The edges of the canvas were jagged
and un