"Have a look," continued Fenton, his nervous glance indifferent to his own athletic fitness, the perfect grooming of his person, the grace and elegance of his tailoring. "Do you discern anything of the disloyal ambassador in that hard-worked friend and comrade of my happiest years?" His eyes gleamed irresistibly. "You see, old chap, you have trusted an invention of perhaps incalculable worth to my honor, and must leave both your fame and possible fortune in my keeping while you are long away." "Yes, but----" "I know, exactly. This is the sort of thing you and I have always done by one another. I had no thought of refusing your trust in me, and so--I have booked your passage for Wednesday." He turned again to the mantel and began to fill his pipe. Grenville pivoted slowly and rubbed the corner of his jaw. "You have--booked my passage--for Wednesday?" Fenton nodded. "Elaine is quite desolate and lonely. You need immediate sunshine and warmth, and can do no good remaining here. Fine day all round for starting, Wednesday, and no boat sailing sooner. There are one thousand dollars in that wad by the statue of Anubis, for your outfit and incidental cash." Grenville glanced mechanically at the dog-headed god of the ancient Egyptians, apparently guarding the money towards which Fenton had waved a careless gesture. "One thou----" "If it isn't enough, draw on my bankers for more," interrupted Fenton, puffing at his calabash industriously. "I have written Elaine so fully you'll have nothing to explain." "By George!" said Grenville, more aggressively, "I like your nerve--the way you'd plunge me into trouble! Do you think I'm a mere senseless rack of wires and bones because I'm not my usual self? What's to prevent me from falling head over heels---- What's the rest of her name--Elaine what? And you probably have her photograph somewhere among your possessions." "Her full name," Fenton answered, moving to the desk beside the mirror, "is Elaine Lytton--twenty-one this month. We've known each other seven years." He returned, extending a small-sized photograph. "Fine girl. That's her picture. Good likeness--sent me last winter from China." Grenville studied the photograph superficially. He used it to tap on the table as he once more faced his host. "About as I expected," he announced with his customary candor. "Nice-looking girl--nothing extra, perhaps, but nice enough. Now tell me how any healthy male friend of yours can guarantee not to fall in love with Elaine, on a long, lazy trip through the tropics," and he cast the picture from him towards the lamp. Fenton relighted his pipe. "Well, suppose he did commit the folly you describe, what then?" "What then?" echoed Grenville, incredulously. "By the long, curved lashes of Juno's eyes, if I were the man you'd certainly see what then!" "All right," said the imperturbable Fenton. "I accept your conditions, fully, and about your outfit I'd suggest----"