"That was right," rejoined his master, with a laugh. "Now get me the menu."

Oku picked up the tray and made for the door.

"Yes--excuse, please. Excuse."

When his butler had disappeared, Stafford turned to his guests with a smile:

"Queer little chap, isn't he? He is very devoted, and I find him very useful. You see, being a bachelor, I don't keep house, but if I have a little party like this, I generally leave the selection of the dinner to Oku and have it served in there--" He pointed to the dining-room, the folding doors of which the butler had closed. With a good-natured laugh, he added: "He has shut the doors so we can't see the spread. I hope the little beggar has something good."

Jim, who, until now, had remained in the background, trying to summon up enough courage to take an aggressive part in the conversation, spoke up boldly:

"Nice little place you have here, Mr. Stafford."

There was an amused expression, which did not escape Virginia's notice, hovering around the corners of the millionaire's mouth, as he replied:

"Glad you like it. Have you seen the other rooms?"

"No," replied the clerk carelessly, as he flecked the ashes from his cigar on to the fine Turkish rug. "I'm judging by this one--"

At that moment Oku re-entered the room, bearing in his hand a menu, which he handed to his master. Stafford glanced over it and nodded approvingly, then, taking out a pencil, he made one correction. This done, he handed it back.

"I think that will do nicely. Have dinner served when ready."

"Yes--sir--excuse, please."

The butler was about to leave the room, when his master called him back.

"Oku--just a moment." Turning apologetically to the others, he said:

"Will you excuse me?" In an undertone to the butler, he said: "I shan't dress to-night--"

Oku salaamed.

"Anything else, sir?"

"No--you can go."

"Then excuse--please. Excuse--"

The butler disappeared and the host rejoined his guests. Addressing the shipping clerk amiably, he said:

"I'm glad you like this room, Mr. Gillie."

There was no sarcasm in his voice, nor did he intend any. The railroad promoter was in good humor that evening, and he wanted his guests to feel perfectly at home, but Jimmie, in his ignorant egotism thought that his host was really flattered by his praise. Patronizingly, he said:

"I do, for a fact. I think it's all right."

Pointing to the library beyond, the millionaire said carelessly:

"My best things are in that room. But there are some here that are rather good, I think. Did you notice this?" He picked up from a table a piece of carved ivory and held it so that all might see. "It was carved by a j.a.panese master nearly eight hundred years ago."

"Did he get much for it?" asked Jimmie, opening wide his eyes.

"Who," smiled Stafford, "the carver?"

"Yes."

"Probably a few cents a day."

"A few cents a day?" gaped the clerk.

"Yes."

Jimmie whistled and walked away. Contemptuously he said:

"He ought to have joined the Carvers' Union."

Stafford laughed.

"There was none in those days," he said. "Even if there had been he wouldn't have joined. He was an artist; he worked for the joy of working."

Jimmie snickered. Sneeringly he said:

"He knew his own business best, I suppose, but I've never seen a man who could raise a family on that."

Replacing the ivory back in the cabinet where it belonged, Stafford turned to the mantel and pointed to the Peach Blow vase, which only a few moments before had met with disaster. But the damage was not visible from a distance, and with the natural pride of a collector showing one of his most valued possessions, the railroad man said:

"I have one or two Peach Blows that I think are rather good. There is one up there which I am particularly fond of."

Jimmie more and more nervous gave his fiancee a nudge. In a frightened undertone he whispered to her:

"It's coming! It's coming!"

To hide her confusion, f.a.n.n.y pretended to be very busy with her handkerchief. Stafford, meantime, had gone up to the bookcase.

Reaching up his hand so he could take hold of the vase by its neck, the millionaire went on:

"This vase is said to be--"

His hand touched the vase, but, instead of lifting it, he simply lifted up the piece which had been broken off. For a moment he stared at the fragment in amazement, while the others looked on in silent consternation. There was an ominous pause. Jimmie, turning pale, could feel his heart thumping violently against his ribs.

"Why, it's broken!" exclaimed their host.

"Yes--" said Jimmie quickly.

"Why--so it is!" gasped f.a.n.n.y, on the theory that an expression of bewilderment on her part would exonerate her from suspicion.

Stafford stood still, trying to fix the two pieces together. He was quite cool and to all appearances the least concerned of the four.

There was not even a note of impatience in his voice as he said: