“It’s amazing.” “I don’t know what call you have to be amazed, neither,” she cried. “But I counted on seeing him to-day,” Reggie explained. “I had better come in and write a note.” The old woman did not seem to think so, but she let him in and took him to a little room. Reggie Fortune caught his breath. For the place was ineffably musty. It was also very full. There was hardly space for both him and the woman. Cabinets lined the walls; and in the corners, in between the cabinets, on top, on the mantel and the window sill were multitudes of queer things. A large and diabolical mask of red feathers towered above him, and he turned from it to see a row of glittering little skulls made of rock crystal and lapis lazuli and carved with hideous realism. On the door hung a cloak made of many coloured bird skins and a necklace of human teeth with the green image of a demon as pendant. A golden dragon with crystal eyes gaped on the sideboard over the whisky decanter. Reggie showed no surprise. He slid into a chair by the table and looked at the old woman. “I don’t know what you want that you can’t say,” she grumbled, unlocked a desk and put before him one sheet of paper, one envelope, pen and ink. “Well, it’s about a curio,” Reggie smiled upon her. “The good Lord knows we’ve enough of them,” she cried. “That’s what took him away now.” Reggie showed no interest and naturally, while he went on writing that Mr. Fortune was anxious to consult Lord Tetherdown on a matter of anthropology, she went on talking. He learnt that it was a gentleman coming about a curio who took Lord Tetherdown away the night before, and she made it plain that she thought little of gentlemen who came about curios. “Didn’t he say when he would be back?” Reggie asked as he stood up to go. “Not a word, I tell you.” “Well, that’s strange.” “Strange, is it? It’s plain you don’t know the master, young man. He’d go to the end of kingdom come for his pretties.” “I hope he hasn’t gone as far as that,” said Reggie. He saw as he turned the corner of the street that she was still looking after him. “She knows more than she says,” he told himself, “or she’s more rattled than she’ll let on.” He went to Scotland Yard. Lomas was pleased to see him. “And how do you like marbles, Fortune?” he said genially. “An intellectual game, I’m told. The glass ones are the trumps now, Bell says. I’m afraid you’re old-fashioned. Stone isn’t used by the best people.” “Breakin’ upon this merry persiflage,” said Reggie, “have you heard from New York?” “New York is silent. Probably stunned by your searching question. But the American Embassy speaks. Where’s that report, Bell?” Superintendent Bell, with an apologetic smile, for he always liked Mr. Fortune, read out: “James L. Beeton is a well-known and opulent citizen now travelling in Europe for his health. Present address not known.” “For his health, mark you,” Lomas added.