oor and looked around him in despair: "All that stuff to
verify and O.K.! What an infernal ass I am! By the nineteen little
josses in Malcourt's bedroom I'm so many kinds of a fool that I hate to
count up beyond the dozen!"

Stretching and yawning alternately he eyed the mass of papers with
increasing repugnance; but later a cold sponge across his eyes revived
him sufficiently to sit down and inspect the first document. Then he
opened the ink-well, picked up a pen, and began.

For half an hour he sat there, now refreshed and keenly absorbed in his
work. Once the stairs outside creaked, and he raised his head, listening
absently, then returned to the task before him with a sigh.

All his windows were open; the warm night air was saturated with the
odour of Bermuda lilies. Once or twice he laid down his pen and stared
out into the darkness as a subtler perfume grew on the breeze--the far
fragrance of china-berry in bloom; Calypso's breath!

Then, in the silence, the heavy throb of his heart unnerved his hand,
rendering his pen unsteady as he signed each rendered bill: "O.K. for
$----," and affixed his signature, "John Garret Hamil, Architect."

The aroma of the lilies hung heavy in the room, penetrating as the scent
of Malcourt's spiced Chinese gums afire and bubbling. And he thought
again of Malcourt's nineteen little josses which he lugged about with
him everywhere from some occult whim, and in whose gilt-bronze laps he
sometimes burned cigarettes, sometimes a tiny globule of aromatic gum,
pretending it propitiated the malice-brooding gods.

And, thinking of Malcourt, suddenly he remembered the door-key. Malcourt
could not get in without it. And the doors were barred and chained.

Slipping the key into his pocket he opened his door, and, treading
quietly through the silent house, descended to the great hall. With
infinite precaution he fumbled for the chains; they were dangling loose.
Somebody, too, had drawn the heavy bars, but the door itself was locked.

So he cautiously unlocked it, and holding the key in his hand, let
himself out on the terrace.

And at the same moment a shadowy figure turned in the starlight to
confront him.

"Shiela!"

"Is that you, Mr. Hamil?"

"Yes. What on earth are you--"

"Hush! What are _you_ doing down here?"

"Louis Malcourt is out. I forgot to leave a key for him under the yellow
rose--"

"Under the rose--and yellow at that! The mysteries of the Rosicrucians
pale into