which he was preparing for his employer
and his guest their simple lunch.

"Brewster," said Professor Binstead, pausing at the mantelpiece.

Mr. Brewster looked up amiably. He was in placid mood to-day. Two
weeks and more had passed since the meeting with Archie recorded in the
previous chapter, and he had been able to dismiss that disturbing affair
from his mind. Since then, everything had gone splendidly with Daniel
Brewster, for he had just accomplished his ambition of the moment
by completing the negotiations for the purchase of a site further
down-town, on which he proposed to erect a new hotel. He liked building
hotels. He had the Cosmopolis, his first-born, a summer hotel in the
mountains, purchased in the previous year, and he was toying with the
idea of running over to England and putting up another in London, That,
however, would have to wait. Meanwhile, he would concentrate on this new
one down-town. It had kept him busy and worried, arranging for securing
the site; but his troubles were over now.

"Yes?" he said.

Professor Binstead had picked up a small china figure of delicate
workmanship. It represented a warrior of pre-khaki days advancing with a
spear upon some adversary who, judging from the contented expression on
the warrior's face, was smaller than himself.

"Where did you get this?"

"That? Mawson, my agent, found it in a little shop on the east side."

"Where's the other? There ought to be another. These things go in pairs.
They're valueless alone."

Mr. Brewster's brow clouded.

"I know that," he said shortly. "Mawson's looking for the other one
everywhere. If you happen across it, I give you carte blanche to buy it
for me."

"It must be somewhere."

"Yes. If you find it, don't worry about the expense. I'll settle up, no
matter what it is."

"I'll bear it in mind," said Professor Binstead. "It may cost you a lot
of money. I suppose you know that."

"I told you I don't care what it costs."

"It's nice to be a millionaire," sighed Professor Binstead.

"Luncheon is served, sir," said Parker.

He had stationed himself in a statutesque pose behind Mr. Brewster's
chair, when there was a knock at the door. He went to the door, and
returned with a telegram.

"Telegram for you, sir."

Mr. Brewster nodded carelessly. The contents of the chafing-dish had
justified the advance advertising of their odour, and he was too busy to
be interrupted.

"Put it down. And you needn't wait, Par