ning, Mr. Rohscheimer, I
was aroused by a special messenger from the _Gleaner_ newspaper, who
brought me this glorious news of your noble, your magnificent, response
to my--to our--appeal. Casting ceremony to the winds, I hastened hither.
Mr. Rohscheimer--your hand!"

At that, Rohscheimer was surrounded.

"Socially," Haredale murmured in his ear, "you are made!"

"Financially," groaned Rohscheimer, "I'm broke!"

Mrs. Rohscheimer, in elegant _decolletee_, appeared among the excited
throng. She was anxious for a sight of her husband, whom she was
convinced had gone mad. Sheard thrust his way to the financier's side.

"Is there anything you would care to say for our next edition?" he
enquired, a notebook in his hand. "We're having a full-page photograph,
and----"

Crash! Crackle! Crackle! Crackle! A blinding light leapt up.

"My God! What's that?"

"All right," said Sheard. "Only our photographer doing a flash. If
there's anything you'd like to say, hurry up, because I'm off to
interview Baron Hague."

"Say that I believe I've gone mad!" groaned the financier, clutching his
hair, "and that I'm damn sure Hague has!"

Sheard laughed, treating the words as a witticism, and hurried away.
Mrs. Rohscheimer approached and bent over her husband.

"Have you pains in your head, dear?" she inquired anxiously.

"No!" snapped Rohscheimer. "I've got a pain in my pocket! I'm a ruined
man! I'll be the laughing-stock of the whole money market!"

Adeler reappeared.

"Adeler," said Rohscheimer, "get the rest of the people out of the
house! And, Adeler"--he glanced about him--"what did you do with those
cards that were on the table, here?"

Adeler stared.

"Cards, Mr. Rohscheimer? I saw none."

"Who came in here first this morning? Who woke me up?"

"I."

Rohscheimer studied the pale, intellectual face of his secretary with
uneasy curiosity.

"And there were no cards on the table--no cheque-book?"

"No."

"Sure you were first in?"

"I am not sure, but I think so. I found you fast asleep, at any rate."

"Why do you ask, dear?" said Mrs. Rohscheimer in growing anxiety.

"Just for a lark!" snapped her husband sourly. "I want to make Adeler
laugh!"

Haredale, who, failing Rohscheimer or Mrs. Rohscheimer, did the honours
of the house in Park Lane, returned from having conducted the Marquess
to his car. He carried a first edition copy of the _Gleaner_.

"They've managed to get it in, even in this one," he said. "