"Yes, sir; very unpleasant weather. If you will allow me, sir, I will brush you in the hall. The mud is dry now, I notice. Then, sir," continued Parkinson, reverting to the business in hand, "there are dark green cashmere hose. A curb-pattern key-chain passes into the left-hand trouser pocket." From the visitor's nether garments the photographic-eyed Parkinson proceeded to higher ground, and with increasing wonder Mr. Carlyle listened to the faithful catalogue of his possessions. His fetter-and-link albert of gold and platinum was minutely described. His spotted blue ascot, with its gentlemanly pearl scarfpin, was set forth, and the fact that the buttonhole in the left lapel of his morning coat showed signs of use was duly noted. What Parkinson saw he recorded, but he made no deductions. A handkerchief carried in the cuff of the right sleeve was simply that to him and not an indication that Mr. Carlyle was, indeed, left-handed. But a more delicate part of Parkinson's undertaking remained. He approached it with a double cough. "As regards Mr. Carlyle's personal appearance, sir--" "No, enough!" cried the gentleman concerned hastily. "I am more than satisfied. You are a keen observer, Parkinson." "I have trained myself to suit my master's requirements, sir," replied the man. He looked towards Mr. Carrados, received a nod and withdrew. Mr. Carlyle was the first to speak. "That man of yours would be worth five pounds a week to me, Max," he remarked thoughtfully. "But, of course--" "I don't think that he would take it," replied Carrados, in a voice of equally detached speculation. "He suits me very well. But you have the chance of using his services--indirectly." "You still mean that--seriously?" "I notice in you a chronic disinclination to take me seriously, Louis. It is really--to an Englishman--almost painful. Is there something inherently comic about me or the atmosphere of The Turrets?" "No, my friend," replied Mr. Carlyle, "but there is something essentially prosperous. That is what points to the improbable. Now what is it?" "It might be merely a whim, but it is more than that," replied Carrados. "It is, well, partly vanity, partly _ennui_, partly"--certainly there was something more nearly tragic in his voice than comic now--"partly hope." Mr. Carlyle was too tactful to pursue the subject. "Those are three tolerable motives," he acquiesced. "I'll do anything you want, Max, on one condition." "Agreed. And it is?" "That you tell me how you knew so much of this affair." He tapped the silver coin which lay on the table near them. "I am not easily flabbergasted," he added. "You won't believe that there is nothing to explain--that it was purely second-sight?" "No," replied Carlyle tersely: "I won't." "You are quite right. And yet the thing is very simple." "They always are--when you know," soliloquised the other. "That's what makes them so confoundedly difficult when you don't."