"Ann sent me," he added. "And you've got to come. And I want to say right now that Ann makes me tired. She's as notional as a lunatic. _She_ planned this rig and now she doesn't like it. And if I don't look like a highwayman you can wager your last sou I feel like one, and that's sufficient. The whole trouble is that Ann's been so busy with hair-dressers and manicurists and _corsetieres_ and dressmakers and the Lord knows what not over that stunning Indian girl, who'll likely run off with the family topazes, that she's had no time for her brother, and rubs it in now by laughing at the shape of my legs. What's the matter with my legs, Carl?" "Too ornamental," said Carl. "Curvilinear grace is all very well but--" "Shut up!" said Sherrill viciously. "Have you ever met this king-pin I'm exploiting?" "I've seen him," said Car. "Once when he was riding up the mountain road to Houdania with a brilliant escort and one--er--other time. Think I told you I'd spent a month or so in a Houdanian monastery several years ago, didn't I, Dick?" "Yes," said Dick. "That's why I asked. Poynter, who in blue blazes are you looking for?" Philip flushed. "Dry up!" he advised. "You're grouchy." Sherrill was still heatedly denying the charge when they halted near the Baron. "You wear a singular costume," suggested Ronador stiffly, when the formalities of presentation were at an end. He glanced at the luminous turban and thence to the chains. Carl, though he had primarily intended the singular rig for the eyes of Tregar, had subtly invited the remark. His eyes were darkly ironic. "Prince," he said guilelessly, "it is a silent parable." "Yes?" "I am 'The Ghost of a Man's Past!'" explained the Palmer lightly--and clanked his chains. The level glances of the two met with the keenness of invisible swords. "The heavy, sinister black," suggested the Palmer, "the flashes of forbidden scarlet--the hours of a man's past are scarlet, are they not?--the cloud above the head, with a treacherous heart of fire, the clanking chains of bondage--they are all here. And the skeleton in the closet--Sire--behold!" He laughed and flung back his mantle, revealing a perfect skeleton cunningly etched in glaring white upon a close-fitting garment of black. Did the Baron's eyes flash suddenly with a queer dry humor? Philip could not be sure. With a clank of symbolic chains Carl bowed and withdrew, and coming suddenly upon his cousin, halted and stared. Long afterward Diane was to remember that she had caught a similar look in the eyes of Ronador. "Well?" she begged, slightly uncomfortable. Carl smiled. Once more his fine eyes were impassive. With ready grace he admired the delicately-thonged tunic and the beaded sash, the bright turban with the beaten band of silver and the darkly lovely face beneath it. "It's a duplicate of the rig my little Indian friend wears," she explained, smiling. "Hasn't Ann told you? She's quite wild about it."