out one gem after another in this veritable storehouse of artistic
surprises. Few of the jolly throng gave evidence of appreciating them:
the man was curiously superior to his associations in education as well
as the patent evidence which Shirley now observed of being to the manor
born. Helene Marigold, ensconced in a big library chair, her feet curled
under her, pink fingers supporting the oval chin, dreamily watched
Shirley's absorption. She seemed almost asleep, but her mind drank in
each mood that fired the criminologist's face, as he thoroughly relaxed
from his usual bland superiority of mien, to revel in the treasures.

Ivory masterpieces, Hindu carvings, bronzes, landscapes, rare wood-cuts,
water colors--such a harmonious variety he had seldom seen in any
private collection. The library was another thesaurus: rich bindings
encased volumes worthy of their garb. The books, furthermore, showed the
mellowing evidence of frequent use; here was no patron of the instalment
editions-de-luxe!

"You like my things," and Warren's voice purred almost happily. There
was a softening change in his attitude, which Shirley understood. The
appreciation of a fellow worshiper warmed his heart. "My books--all
bound privately, you know, for I hate shop bindings. Most of them from
second-hand stalls, redolent with the personalities of half a hundred
readers. Books are so much more worth reading when they have been read
and read again. Don't you think so?"

"Yes. I see your tastes run to the modern school. Individualism,
even morbidity: Spencer, Nietsche, Schopenhauer, Tolstoi, Kropotkin,
Gorky--They express your thoughts collectively?"

"Yes, but not radically enough. My entire intellectual life has driven
me forward--I am a disciple of the absolute freedom, the divinity of
self, and--but there I invited you to a joy party, not a university
seminar."

"But the party will grow riper with age," and Shirley was prone to
continue the autopsy. "You are a university man. Where did you study?"

"Sipping here and there," and a forgivable vanity lightened Warren's
face. "Gottingen, Warsaw, Jena, Oxford, Milan, The Sorbonne and even at
Heidelberg, the jolly old place. You see my scar?" He pulled back a lock
of his wavy black hair from the left temple to show a cut from a student
duelist's sword. "But you Americans--I mean, we Americans--we have such
opportunities to pick up the best things from the rest of the world."

"No, Warren," and