t's all. Good-bye.'

'I wish you'd tell me where you are.'

'Not far off,' said the voice. 'I shall never be far off, I think. When
you've found Camilla and brought her here'--the tone of the voice
changed and grew almost malignant despite its reticence--'you'd like to
know that I was always near to, somewhere underneath, mouldering,
wouldn't you?'

'What did you say?'

'I said mouldering. Good-bye.'

'But look here--'

The bell rang off. Louis Ravengar had finished his good-bye. Hugo tried
in vain to resume communication with him. He could not even get any sort
of reply from the Exchange.

'It's a queer world,' he soliloquized, as he returned to bed. 'What does
the man mean?'

He was still happy in the prospect of finding Camilla, but it was as
though his happiness were a pool in a private ground, and some
trespasser had troubled it with a stone.

The clock struck ten, and Simon entered with tea and the paper.

CHAPTER XXI

SUICIDE

The paper contained a whole-page advertisement of Hugo's great annual
sale, and also a special half-page advertisement headed 'Hugo's Apology
and Promise'--a message to the public asking pardon of the public for
the confusion, inconvenience, and disappointments of the previous day,
hinting that the mystery of the affair would probably be elucidated in a
criminal court, and stating that a prodigious number of silvered
fox-stoles would positively be available from nine o'clock that morning
at a price even lower than the figure named in the original
announcement. The message further stated that a special Complaint Office
had been opened as a branch of the Inquiry Bureau, and that all
complaints by customers who had suffered on New Year's Day would there
be promptly and handsomely dealt with.

In addition to Hugo's advertisements, there were several columns of
news describing the singular phenomena of the sale, concluding with what
a facetious reporter had entitled 'Interviews with Survivors.'

As he read the detailed accounts Hugo knew, perhaps for the first time
in his life, what it was 'to go hot and cold all over.' However, he was
decidedly inclined to be optimistic.

'Anyhow,' he said, 'it's the best ad. I ever had. Still, it's a mercy
there were no deaths.'

He began to dress hurriedly, furiously. Already the second day of the
sale had been in progress for more than an hour, and he had not even
visited the scene of the campaign. Simon had said nothing; it was