hat d--d bean!" Mr. Waddington declared. "But look here,
Burton, can you tell me what's happened to the other people?"

"I cannot," Burton confessed. "I am beginning to get an idea, perhaps."

"Stand by for a bit and watch," Mr. Waddington begged. "I must go on
with the sale now. Take a little lunch with me afterwards. Don't
desert me, Burton. We're in this together."

Burton nodded and found a seat at a little distance from the rostrum.
From here he watched the remainder of the morning's sale. The whole
affair seemed to resolve itself into a repetition of the sale of the
chest. The auctioneer's attempts to describe correctly the wares he
offered were met with mingled suspicion and disbelief. The one or two
articles which really had the appearance of being genuine, and over
which he hesitated, fetched enormous prices, and all the time his eager
clients eyed him suspiciously. No one trusted him, and yet it was
obvious that if he had advertised a sale every day, the room would have
been packed. Burton watched the proceedings with the utmost interest.
Once or twice people who recognized him came up and asked him questions,
to which, however, he was able to return no satisfactory reply. At one
o'clock precisely, the auctioneer, with a little sigh of relief,
announced a postponement. Even after he had left the rostrum, the
people seemed unwilling to leave the place.

"Back again this afternoon, sir?" some one called out.

"At half-past two," the auctioneer replied, with a smothered groan.

CHAPTER VIII

HESITATION

Mr. Waddington called a taxicab.

"I can't stand the Golden Lion any longer," he explained. "Somehow or
other, the place seems to have changed in the most extraordinary manner'
during the last week or so. Everybody drinks too much there. The
table-linen isn't clean, and the barmaids are too familiar. I've found
out a little place in Jermyn Street where I go now when I have time.
We can talk there."

Burton nodded. He was, as a matter of fact, intensely interested. Only
a few weeks ago, his late employer had spent nearly every moment of his
time, when his services were not urgently required at the office, at the
Golden Lion, and he had been seen on more than one occasion at the
theatre and elsewhere with one or another of the golden-haired ladies
behind the bar. Mr. Waddington--fortunately, perhaps, considering his
present predicament!--was a bachelor.

The restaurant, if small, was an excellent on