“The excavations they made in their absurd search for treasure in the ruins confused everything; but Glosbrenner’s exposé was lost--burnt up in a printing-office fire in Berlin. There’s not an assertion in my ‘Brickyards of Nebuchadnezzar’ that isn’t weakened by that bronze-gate rubbish, for Geisendanner was a scholar of some reputation. After the failure of his hidden-treasure scheme he faked his book on the Bronze Gates of Babylon as a pot boiler, and died leaving it behind him--one of the most plausible frauds ever perpetrated. They went in on top of my excavations of the brickyard--thought because I was an American I must have been looking for gold images. Glosbrenner was an American student; and seeing that his fellow-adventurer’s book was taken seriously he wrote his exposé, swore to it before the American consul at Berlin and then started for Tibet to sell an automobile to the Grand Lama--and never came back.” Pendleton’s depression had increased; gloom settled upon the company--or upon all but this demure young skeleton at the feast, who had thus outrageously brought to the table the one topic of all topics in the world that was the most ungrateful to the man Mrs. Burgess most particularly wished to please. She sought without avail to break in upon a dialogue that excluded the rest of the company as completely as though they were in the kitchen. “I was just reading that thing in the Seven Seas’ Review; but you can see that the reviewer swallowed Geisendanner whole. He takes your brickyards away from Nebuchadnezzar and gives them to Nabopolassar, which seems v-e-r-y c-a-r-e-l-e-s-s!” This concluding phrase, drawled most Susesquely, brought a laugh from Burgess, and Pendleton’s own face relaxed. “They’re all flinging Geisendanner at me!” continued Pendleton with renewed animation. “It’s humiliating to find the English and Germans alike throwing this impostor at my head. Those fellows began their excavations secretly and without authority, in a superstitious belief that they’d find gold images of heathen gods and all manner of loot there. And it’s hard luck that the confession of one of the conspirators is lost forever and the man himself dead.” “It certainly is most unfortunate!” mourned Mrs. Burgess, anxious to pour balm upon his wounds. “It’s curious, however, Mr. Pendleton,” said Susie casually, “that I happen to know of the existence of a copy of that Glosbrenner pamphlet.” “A copy---- You mustn’t chaff me about that!” “Yes,” said Susie; “it’s really quite the funniest thing that ever happened.” “This seems to be an important matter, Miss Parker. You have no right to play upon Mr. Pendleton’s credulity, his hopes!” said Mrs. Burgess icily.