sing business could possibly be, but even in his wildest flights of
fancy, and, with the thermometer at 112 deg., flights of fancy do not carry
far, he never even dimly guessed at anything the least degree connected
with the truth.

The Bearer came down the wide scenic stairway and said that his master
would see Mr. Coryndon at once. The young man with the smooth manner
faded off into dark shadows with an accentuation of impersonal civility,
and Coryndon walked up the echoing staircase by the front of the hall,
down a corridor, down another flight of stairs, and into the private
suite of rooms sacred to the use of the head of the banking firm, and
used only in part by the celibate Joicey.

Joicey was standing by a table, looking at Coryndon's card and twisting
it between his fingers. He recognized his visitor when he glanced at
him, and showed some surprise. The room was in twilight, as all the
outside chicks were down, and there was a lingering faint perfume of
something sweet and cloying in the air. Joicey looked sulky and
irritated, and he motioned Coryndon to a chair without seating himself.

"Well," he said brusquely, "what's this about Rydal?" He pointed with a
blunt finger to the card that he had thrown on to the table.

"That," said Coryndon, also indicating the card, "is merely a means
towards an end. I have the good fortune to find you not only in your
house, but able to receive me."

The colour mounted to Joicey's heavy face, and his temper rose with it.

"Then you mean to tell me--" He broke off and stared at Coryndon, and
gave a rough laugh. "You're Hartley's globe-trotting acquaintance,
aren't you? Well, Hartley happens to be a friend of mine, and it is just
as well for you that he is. Tell me your business, and I will overlook
your intrusion on his account."

Something inside Coryndon's brain tightened like a string of a violin
tuned up to concert-pitch.

"In one respect you are wrong," he said amiably, and without the
smallest show of heat. "I am, as you say, Hartley's friend, but I must
disown any connection with globe-trotting, as you call it. I am in the
Secret Service of the Indian Government."

"Oh, are you?" Joicey tore up the card and threw it into a basket beside
the writing-table.

"It may interest you to know," went on Coryndon easily, "that my visit
to you is not altogether prompted by idle curiosity." He smiled
reflectively. "No, I feel sure that you will not call it that."

"Fir