y, from the
pronounced but meaningless intricacy of the architecture to the studied
but unconvincing tints, like a man who suddenly starts to speak, but
checks himself, realising he has nothing in particular to say.

There were half a dozen people there lounging informally between the
living-room on the second floor and Sylvia's apartments in the rear--the
residue from a luncheon and Bridge party given that afternoon by Sylvia
to a score or so of card-mad women. A few of these she had asked to
remain for an informal dinner, and a desperate game later--the sort
of people she knew well enough to lose to heavily or win from without
remorse--Grace Ferrall, Marion Page, Agatha Caithness. Trusting to the
telephone that morning, she had secured the Mortimers and Quarrier,
failing three men; and now the party, with Plank as Mortimer's
substitute, was complete, all thorough gamesters--sex mattering nothing
in the preparation for such a seance.

In Sylvia's boudoir Grace Ferrall and Agatha Caithness sat before the
fire; Sylvia, at the mirror of her dresser, was correcting the pallor
incident to the unbroken dissipation of a brilliant season; Marion, with
her inevitable cigarette, wandered between Sylvia's quarters and the
library, where Quarrier and Major Belwether were sitting in low-voiced
confab.

Leila, greeted gaily from the boudoir, went in. Plank entered the
library, was mauled effusively by the major, returned Quarrier's firm
hand shake, and sat down with an inquiring smile.

"Oh, yes, we're out for blood to-night," tittered Major Belwether,
grasping Quarrier's arm humourously and shaking it to emphasise his
words--a habit that Quarrier thoroughly disliked. "Sylvia had a lot of
women here playing for the season score, so I suggested she keep the
pick of them for dinner, and call in a few choice ones to make a night
of it."

"It's agreeable to me," said Plank, still looking at Quarrier with
the same inquiring expression, which that gentleman presently chose to
understand.

"I haven't had a chance to look into that matter," he said carelessly.
"Some day, when you have time to go over it--"

"I have time now," said Plank; "there's nothing to go over; there's no
reason for any secrecy. All I wrote you was that I proposed to control
the stock of Amalgamated Electric and that I wished your advice in the
matter."

"I could not give you any advice off-hand on such an extraordinary
suggestion," returned Quarrier coldly.