The drooping eyelids of M. Agapoulos drooped lower, as returning to the centre of the room he critically surveyed the effect of these master touches. At the moment he resembled a window-dresser, or, rather, one of those high-salaried artists who beautify the great establishments of Regent Street, the Rue de la Paix, and Ruination Avenue, New York. Hassan lighted the sixth lamp, muttering smilingly all the time. He was about to depart when Agapoulos addressed him in Arabic. “There will be a party down from the Savoy tonight, Hassan. No one else is to come unless I am told. That accursed red policeman, Kerry, has been about here of late. Be very careful.” Hassan saluted him gravely and retired through one of the draped openings. In his hand he held the taper with which he had lighted the lamps. In order that the draperies should not be singed he had to hold them widely apart. For it had not occurred to Hassan to extinguish the taper. The Egyptian mind is complex in its simplicity. M. Agapoulos from a gold case extracted a cigarette, and lighting it, inhaled the smoke contentedly, looking about him. The window-dresser was lost again in the bank manager who has arranged a profitable overdraft. Somewhere a bell rang. Hassan, treading silently, reappeared, crossed the room, and opening a finely carved door walked along a corridor which it had concealed. He still carried the lighted taper. Presently there entered a man whose well-cut serge suit revealed the figure of a soldier. He wore a soft gray felt hat and carried light gloves and a cane. His dark face, bronzed by recent exposure to the Egyptian sun, was handsome in a saturnine fashion, and a touch of gray at the temples tended to enhance his good looks. He carried himself in that kind of nonchalant manner which is not only insular but almost insolent. M. Agapoulos bowed extravagantly. As he laid his plump hand upon his breast the diamond ring sparkled in a way most opulent and impressive. “I greet you, Major Grantham,” he said. “Behold”--he waved his hand glitteringly--“all is prepared.” “Oh, yes,” murmured the other, glancing around without interest; “good. You are beginning to get straight in your new quarters.” Agapoulos extended the prosperous cigarette-case, and Major Grantham took and lighted a superior cigarette. “How many in the party?” inquired the Greek smilingly. “Three and myself.” A shadow of a frown appeared upon the face of Agapoulos. “Only three,” he muttered. Major Grantham laughed. “You should know me by this time, Agapoulos,” he said. “The party is small but exclusive, you understand?” He spoke wearily, as a tired man speaks of distasteful work which he must do. There was contempt in his voice; contempt of Agapoulos, and contempt of himself. “Ah!” cried the Greek, brightening; “do I know any of them?” “Probably. General Sir Francis Payne, Mr. Eddie, and Sir Horace Tipton.” “An Anglo-American party, eh?”