retence of too great
disinterestedness. But I added that if the money were my own, I could
think of no better way of spending it, and the count was satisfied.

He was in the very act of describing to me the weapons he proposed to
buy when a servant entered with a card.

"This is my man," said the count, and bade the servant show the visitor
in.

CHAPTER XII

"Mr. Alpheas P. Quorn" was the name printed on the card of the visitor
just announced, and I had scarcely cast my eye upon it when the man came
in. He was a prodigiously fat man, with a pigeon breast, and a neck so
short that his tufted chin was set low down between his high shoulders.
He was dressed in actual burlesque of the fashion then prevailing; but,
spruce as he was, he nursed undisguisedly a huge quid of tobacco in one
clean-shaven cheek, and his hands, which were covered with rings of no
great apparent value, were very dirty, and the nails uncared for. He
bowed with a great flourish of politeness, spat copiously in the fire,
and bade the count good-day in a thin and shrill-pitched voice, so out
of keeping with his monstrous size that I had to cough and turn away to
disguise a laugh.

"My respects, count," said Mr. Quorn, "my respects and compliments. I
presoom, sir, you have heard the noos from the European Continent."

"I am in pretty constant receipt of news," the count responded, with a
swift glance in my direction; "but I do not know that it is yet common
property."

"Wal," said Mr. Quorn, "I'm inclined to think it is. But my folks are
pretty considerably damn smart, and so, I guess, are yours." He paused,
looked hard at me, and turned his quid reflectively. "This gentleman--?"
he said, interrogatively.

"This gentleman," the count responded, "is in full possession of my
confidence. This is Mr. Quorn, Captain Fyffe. I was telling Captain
Fyffe at the moment of your arrival," he continued, "the nature of
our business. I shall rely upon his judgment of the goods you have for
sale."

"That's all right," said Mr. Quorn. "I've got the real thing to sell,
and I want a man as knows the real thing to see it before it's bought.
Then you're satisfied and I'm satisfied. If I ain't mistaken now,
Captain Fyffe's the man that hooked you out of that blasted Austrian
dungeon."

"It is to Captain Fyffe," the count answered, "that I owe my liberty."

"Then you owe him a lot," retorted Mr. Quorn. "There's nothing sweeter
on the face of the earth, and