"I object to the whole damned thing, sir! I mean, I repudiate the entire concern. It's the work of a raving lunatic--a place that no English gentleman, sir, with any self-respect or--ah!--consideration for his reputation and position in the county, could consent to occupy for a single hour!" "Oh," said Horace, feeling deathly sick, "in that case it is useless, of course, to suggest any modifications." "Absolutely!" said Mr. Wackerbath. "Very well, then; there's no more to be said," replied Horace. "You will have no difficulty in finding an architect who will be more successful in realising your intentions. Mr. Beevor, the gentleman you met just now," he added, with a touch of bitterness, "would probably be just your man. Of course I retire altogether. And really, if any one is the sufferer over this, I fancy it's myself. I can't see how you are any the worse." "Not any the worse?" cried Mr. Wackerbath, "when the infernal place is built!" "Built!" echoed Horace feebly. "I tell you, sir, I saw it with my own eyes driving to the station this morning; my coachman and footman saw it; my wife saw it--damn it, sir, we _all_ saw it!" Then Horace understood. His indefatigable Jinnee had been at work again! Of course, for Fakrash it must have been what he would term "the easiest of affairs"--especially after a glance at the plans (and Ventimore remembered that the Jinnee had surprised him at work upon them, and even requested to have them explained to him)--to dispense with contractors and bricklayers and carpenters, and construct the entire building in the course of a single night. It was a generous and spirited action--but, particularly now that the original designs had been found faulty and rejected, it placed the unfortunate architect in a most invidious position. "Well, sir," said Mr. Wackerbath, with elaborate irony, "I presume it is you whom I have to thank for improving my land by erecting this precious palace on it?" "I--I----" began Horace, utterly broken down; and then he saw, with emotions that may be imagined, the Jinnee himself, in his green robes, standing immediately behind Mr. Wackerbath. "Greeting to you," said Fakrash, coming forward with his smile of amiable cunning. "If I mistake not," he added, addressing the startled estate agent, who had jumped visibly, "thou art the merchant for whom my son here," and he laid a hand on Horace's shrinking shoulder, "undertook to construct a mansion?" "I am," said Mr. Wackerbath, in some mystification. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Ventimore, senior?" "No, no," put in Horace; "no relation. He's a sort of informal partner." "Hast thou not found him an architect of divine gifts?" inquired the Jinnee, beaming with pride. "Is not the palace that he hath raised for thee by his transcendent accomplishments a marvel of beauty and stateliness, and one that Sultans might envy?"