t that, after his time, he did not care how soon earth
and fire were mingled. The marquis, on the other hand, gave the
impression that, he once out of the way, he ardently desired the
destruction of the whole human race. He was not known ever to have
consciously benefited man or woman. He screwed out what he might from
everybody in his power, and made no returns which the law did not exact;
even these, as far as the income tax went, he kept at the lowest figure
possible.

Such was the distinguished personage whose card was handed to Merton one
morning at the office. There had been no previous exchange of letters,
according to the rules of the Society, and yet Merton could not suppose
that the marquis wished to see him on any but business matters. 'He
wants to put a spoke in somebody's wheel,' thought Merton, 'but whose?'

He hastily scrawled a note for Logan, who, as usual, was late, put it in
an envelope, and sealed it. He wrote: '_On no account come in_.
_Explanation later_! Then he gave the note to the office boy, impressed
on him the necessity of placing it in Logan's hands when he arrived, and
told the boy to admit the visitor.

The marquis entered, clad in rusty black not unlike a Scotch peasant's
best raiment as worn at funerals. He held a dripping umbrella; his boots
were muddy, his trousers had their frayed ends turned up. He wore a
hard, cruel red face, with keen grey eyes beneath penthouses where age
had touched the original tawny red with snow. Merton, bowing, took the
umbrella and placed it in a stand.

'You'll not have any snuff?' asked the marquis.

Trevor had placed a few enamelled snuff-boxes of the eighteenth century
among the other costly _bibelots_ in the rooms, and, by an unusual
chance, one of them actually did contain what the marquis wanted. Merton
opened it and handed it to the peer, who, after trying a pinch on his
nostrils, poured a quantity into his hand and thence into a little black
mull made of horn, which he took from his breast pocket. 'It's good,' he
said. 'Better than I get at Kirkburn. You'll know who I am?' His
accent was nearly as broad as that of one of his own hinds, and he
sometimes used Scottish words, to Merton's perplexity.

'Every one has heard of the Marquis of Restalrig,' said Merton.

'Ay, and little to his good, I'll be bound?'

'I do not listen to gossip,' said Merton. 'I presume, though you have
not addressed me by letter, that your visit is not