tant in which Pongo seemed to
hang suspended, like Mohammed's coffin, between heaven and earth, then
the force of gravity asserted itself. Pongo fell with a sharp crack and
disintegrated. And as it did so there was a knock at the door, and in
walked a dark, furtive person, who to the inflamed vision of Mr. Daniel
Brewster looked like something connected with the executive staff of the
Black Hand. With all time at his disposal, the unfortunate Salvatore had
selected this moment for stating his case.

"Get out!" bellowed Mr. Brewster. "I didn't ring for a waiter."

Archie, his mind reeling beneath the catastrophe, recovered himself
sufficiently to do the honours. It was at his instigation that Salvatore
was there, and, greatly as he wished that he could have seen fit to
choose a more auspicious moment for his business chat, he felt compelled
to do his best to see him through.

"Oh, I say, half a second," he said. "You don't quite understand. As
a matter of fact, this chappie is by way of being downtrodden and
oppressed and what not, and I suggested that he should get hold of you
and speak a few well-chosen words. Of course, if you'd rather--some
other time--"

But Mr. Brewster was not permitted to postpone the interview. Before
he could get his breath, Salvatore had begun to talk. He was a strong,
ambidextrous talker, whom it was hard to interrupt; and it was not for
some moments that Mr. Brewster succeeded in getting a word in. When he
did, he spoke to the point. Though not a linguist, he had been able
to follow the discourse closely enough to realise that the waiter was
dissatisfied with conditions in his hotel; and Mr. Brewster, as has been
indicated, had a short way with people who criticised the Cosmopolis.

"You're fired!" said Mr. Brewster.

"Oh, I say!" protested Archie.

Salvatore muttered what sounded like a passage from Dante.

"Fired!" repeated Mr. Brewster resolutely. "And I wish to heaven," he
added, eyeing his son-in-law malignantly, "I could fire you!"

"Well," said Professor Binstead cheerfully, breaking the grim silence
which followed this outburst, "if you will give me your cheque,
Brewster, I think I will be going. Two thousand three hundred dollars.
Make it open, if you will, and then I can run round the corner and cash
it before lunch. That will be capital!"

CHAPTER XII. BRIGHT EYES--AND A FLY

The Hermitage (unrivalled scenery, superb cuisine, Daniel Brewster,
proprietor) was a