ances. Often he
was in uncontrollable spirits--on fire with mental and physical
exuberance--sometimes he was morose and silent, and apparently weak.
Frequently he disappeared for considerable periods, and his house
appeared to be closed. But none saw his coming or going.

Strange rumors circulated about him from time to time. Certain social
circles, to which his wealth and position entitled him to the entree,
were closed to him. Over and above his wild extravagancies, he was
credited with vices that remained unnamed. It was said that things took
place in his house that sealed the lips of men and women. When his name
was mentioned in the clubs, some men shrugged their shoulders. When it
was spoken in the drawing-rooms, some women remained silent. There had
been an attempt to stab him, and twice he had been shot at. After the
second attempt, a woman had been heard to say bitterly that he must bear
a charmed life. He continued to pursue his strange ways with supreme
indifference to the opinions of his fellow-creatures.

The house he lived in was the only sort of house he could have lived
in. From the foundations to the topmost brick it was a mass of
bewildering crookedness. Nothing was straight. Not a single passage led
where it would have been expected to lead--not a staircase fulfilled
normal anticipations. Scarcely two windows in the whole building were
the same size--scarcely two rooms were the same shape--and not even two
contortions corresponded. There must have been a mile of unnecessary
corridors, dozens of incomprehensible corners and turnings, and at least
a score of unwanted entrances and exits. If the aim and object of the
architect, whoever he was, had been to reduce the unfortunate occupants
of his handiwork to a condition of hopeless mental entanglement, he
could not have created a more effective instrument for the purpose.
George Copplestone found it a residence after his own heart, and
delighted in the means it provided for gratifying his feverish
inspirations.

The room into which John Tranter and Monsieur Victorien Dupont were
ushered at eight-thirty on the following night presented an
extraordinary spectacle of lavish and indiscriminate decoration,
arriving at a general suggestion of something between a Royal visit and
preparations for a wildly enthusiastic Christmas. Flags and festoons,
flowers, real and imitation, fairy-candles and colored lamps, burning
with strange heavy scents, quaint fantastic