“Yes, I expect so, confound them! Do the best you can; but buy them, and as soon as you can. When you have got them all, let me know. That’s all.” Mr. Mowle closed his book. “Very good, sir,” he said, shutting his lips. “I won’t detain you longer, sir. Everything is going on all right, as you saw by the last statement.” Mr. Bradstone nodded, and opened the door. “You’ve got a little time to spare. You may as well see the house,” he said, carelessly. “Thank you, sir; thank you, Mr. Bartley, if it’s not giving you too much trouble,” croaked Mr. Mowle obsequiously, as he followed him. “This is the hall,” said Bartley Bradstone, waving his hand. “Notice this window, Mowle. It cost me fifteen hundred pounds.” Mowle blinked at the window, and cast a fishy eye round the oaken panels and the men in armor. “The drawing-room,” said Mr. Bradstone. “Decorated by Marks. I paid him four hundred pounds. Had the furniture designed by Fox.” “Beautiful! beautiful!” murmured Mowle. “And this is the dining-room. Sorry you can’t stay to dinner, I’d have shown you the plate.” “Superb apartment,” croaked Mowle, peering in with his shoulders bent meekly. “Library you’ve seen. Here’s the billiard-room. Electric light, you see.” “I see, sir. Delightful.” “Come upstairs. First corridor. My rooms,” and he signed to a footman to open the door. Mr. Mowle peered into the luxurious bedchamber and dressing-room, and his gaunt eyes took note of the silver toilet set and Brussels lace draperies. “Fit for a prince!” he croaked. “Guest chambers No. 1 and Nos. 2 and 3. There are fourteen of them, all like this,” said Mr. Bradstone. “Delightful! quite delightful!” murmured Mowle. “Fourteen, Mr. Bradstone?” “Fourteen,” assented the owner. “Reading-room and ladies’ boudoir, gray and yellow satin. Piano, Collard & Collard grand. Pictures by Long and Leighton.” “Splendid! Fit for a queen, Mr. Bartley!” exclaimed Mowle, staring about him. “Statuary gallery,” said. Mr. Bradstone. “‘Sleeping Nymph,’ two thousand pounds. ‘Hercules,’ by Boehm, a thousand pounds. Group, by Gleichen. Down there is the palm-garden--fountain of scented water. My own room.” He passed into a small room, luxuriously furnished, with cabinet pictures on the walls, and a large iron safe in the corner. “Books, guns, and all that kind of thing,” he said, waving his hand. “Safe by Milner.” He looked round, and, seeing the footman was out of hearing, added, with a smile, “That’s where your little check is, Mowle.” Mr. Mowle’s face went livid, and he passed his hands over each other as if to warm them. “Don’t, Mr. Bartley, don’t!” he murmured, hoarsely. Bartley Bradstone laughed. “Oh, it is as well to remind you,” he said, coolly. “That door leads to the stables. This way,” and he led him across a courtyard covered by a glass roof. “Here you are; twenty-four stalls. I hunt, you know.” “Yes, sir.” “Yes. That’s my best horse. Gave two hundred and fifty for him.” “Beautiful creature, sir.”