o had caught from London the fashion of drinking tea in public
places. By the side of the confectioner's was an open door and a
staircase, which led to the first floor and the other floors. A card
hung by a cord to a nail indicated that Balsamo had pitched his moving
tent for a few days on the first floor, in a suite of offices lately
occupied by a solicitor. Considering that the people who visit a palmist
are just as anxious to publish their doings as the people who visit a
pawnbroker--and no more--it might be thought that Balsamo had ill-chosen
his site. But this was not so. Balsamo, a deep student of certain sorts
of human nature, was perfectly aware that, just as necessity will force
a person to visit a pawnbroker, so will inherited superstition force a
person to visit a palmist, no matter what the inconveniences. If he had
erected a wigwam in the middle of Crown Square and people had had to
decide between not seeing him at all and running the gauntlet of a
crowd's jeering curiosity, he would still have had many clients.

Of course when you are in love you are in love. Anything may happen to
you then. Most things do happen. For example, Adam Tellwright found
himself ascending the stairs of No. 22 Machin Street at an early hour
one morning. He was, I need not say, mounting to the third floor to give
an order to the potter's modeller, who had a studio up there. Still he
stopped at the first floor, knocked at a door labelled "Balsamo,"
hesitated, and went in. I need not say that this was only fun on his
part. I need not say that he had no belief whatever in palmistry, and
was not in the least superstitious. A young man was seated at a desk, a
stylish young man. Adam Tellwright smiled, as one who expected the
stylish young man to join in the joke. But the young man did not smile.
So Adam Tellwright suddenly ceased to smile.

"Are you Mr Balsamo?" Adam inquired.

"No. I'm his secretary."

His secretary! Strange how the fact that Balsamo was guarded by a
secretary, and so stylish a secretary, affected the sagacious and
hard-headed Adam!

"You wish to see him?" the secretary demanded coldly.

"I suppose I may as well," said Adam, sheepishly.

"He is disengaged, I think. But I will make sure. Kindly sit down."

Down sat Adam, playing nervously with his hat, and intensely hoping that
no other client would come in and trap him.

"Mr Balsamo will see you," said the secretary, emerging through a double
black portiere.