“That was a terrible thing last night, Zimmerlein,” said the Brazilian, nervously glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the drafting-room. Zimmerlein made no response. He resumed his set, faraway expression, his gaze directed at the upper sash of the broad, high window, beyond which a distant, grey cloud glided slowly across a blue-white sky. “Most shocking,” went on the Brazilian, after a moment. He had not removed his overcoat. The fur collar was still fastened closely about his neck. Zimmerlein turned toward his visitor. “Take off your coat, Riaz. Make yourself comfortable,” he said, affably. “Help yourself to a cigar.” Riaz,--Sebastian Riaz, diamond merchant and mine-owner of Rio Janeiro,--removed his coat. “The appointment was for eleven o'clock, Mr. Zimmerlein,” he said, looking at his watch. “They are late. It is nearly twelve.” “Permit me to remind you that you also were late. Everything is in order, my dear sir. The deal may be closed in ten minutes,--or even less time than that,--if there is no further haggling on your part.” He closed one eye slowly. “The contracts, the estimates, the plans are ready. Nothing is lacking except the signatures.” “Just as they have been ready for nearly two months,” observed Riaz, also closing an eye. “All ready--except the signatures and the _date_.” “We shall date them,--and sign them,--in our extremity,” said Zimmerlein, going to a safe which stood invitingly open in a corner of the room. He removed a small but important-looking package of papers and tossed them carelessly on the table. “Such as a visit from on high,” he added, with a smile. “Yes,” said Riaz, and sat down again, frowning. “We shall never be caught napping. Here are the papers, as they would say in the melodrama. By the way, do you go in for melodrama in Rio? Or are you above that form of amusement?” Riaz remained unsmiling. “It is not as popular with us as it is with you Americans,” said he. “We see through it too readily.” Zimmerlein unfolded and spread out several of the documents. “There!” he said. “Let him come who will. Under the sharpest eyes in America you may transfer property valued at ten millions, and no one will question the validity of the transaction. You see, my dear Riaz, you _do_ own these mines and they are exactly what they are represented to Be. To save their lives, they can't go behind the facts. And the purchasers are prepared to hand over the cash at any moment. Could anything be simpler?” “Nothing,” said the Brazilian, sententiously,--“except the damned little slip that sometimes comes between the cup and the lip.” “Ah, but our cup is always at the lip,” said Zimmerlein buoyantly. “Don't be a kill-joy, old chap.” “All well and good, Zimmerlein, unless some one's lip splits.” He shot an uneasy glance into the drafting-room.