bernouse.

"My dear Sheard," he said warmly and familiarly, "I am really delighted
to see you again."

Sheard shook his hand heartily. Severac Bablon was as irresistible as
ever.

"Take the arm-chair," he continued, "and try to overlook the
peculiarities of my study. Believe me, they are not intended for mere
effect. Every item of my arrangements has its peculiar note of
inspiration, I assure you."

Sheard turned, and found that a deep-seated, heavily-cushioned chair,
also antique, and which he had overlooked, stood close behind him. An
odd perfume hung in the air.

"Ah," said Severac Bablon, in his softly musical voice, "you have
detected my vice."

He passed an ebony box to his visitor, containing cigarettes of a dark
yellow colour. Sheard lighted one, and discovered it possessed a
peculiar aromatic flavour, which he found very fascinating. Severac
Bablon watched him with a quizzical smile upon his wonderfully handsome
face.

"I am afraid there is opium in them," he said.

Sheard started.

"Do not fear," laughed the other. "You cannot develop the vice, for
these cigarettes are unobtainable in London. Their history serves to
disprove the popular theory that the use of tobacco was introduced from
Mexico in the sixteenth century. These were known in the East
generations earlier."

And so, with the mere melody of his voice, he re-established his
sovereignty over Sheard's mind. His extraordinary knowledge of
extraordinary matters occasioned the pressman's constant amazement. From
the preparations made for the reception of the Queen of Sheba at
Solomon's court in 980 B.C. he passed to the internal organisation of
the Criminal Investigation Department.

"I should mention," said Sheard at this point, "that an attempt was made
to follow me here."

Severac Bablon waved a long white hand carelessly.

"Never mind," he replied soothingly. "It is annoying for you, but I give
you my word that you shall not be compromised by _me_--come, luncheon is
waiting. I will show you the only three men in Europe and America who
might associate the bandit, the incendiary, with him who calls himself
Severac Bablon."

He stood up and gazed abstractedly in the direction of the garden. In
silence he stood looking, not at the garden, but beyond it, into some
vaster garden of his fancy. Sheard studied him with earnest curiosity.

"Will you never tell me," he began abruptly, "who you are really, what
is the source of your influen