"Some of Parker's leavin's, I'll be bound," said Mr. Bradshaw. "Same symtims. Looks all right, and talks despairin' of pains an' shivers. Won't have a doctor, neither. If the Wizzer pipes out, Finny, your preshus cousin'll be responsible." At 8 p.m. the Prince and his suite, with the exception of the invalid Vizier, set out for the Alhambra and supper at the Carlton. Mr. Marvell, as usual, followed closely in their wake. At nine o'clock James Finny was off duty. "Now or never," he thought. He watched his opportunity, and then, unperceived, entered the library, and there hid himself behind a curtain, intending to wait till the household was asleep, and then to open the despatch box from his bunch of skeleton keys. He had been there perhaps half an hour when the door opened, and, to his amazement, the Vizier entered. He was followed by a servant bringing coffee and cigarettes. There were cups for two. The minutes passed slowly. The Vizier looked impatiently at the clock, then strode up to one of the windows, pulled back the heavy curtain, raised the blind, and looked out. Rivers' pulses quickened. What if the Vizier were to come to his window? "Ha!" exclaimed the Persian, replacing the curtain, and resuming his seat. The door opened, and a bemuffled object made its appearance. The Vizier rose. The servant withdrew, and the object emerged from its wraps. Rivers knew the man at once. He had met him at Constantinople. It was Count Moranoff. The Vizier bowed. The newcomer responded, and then gave a sigh of relief. "_Peste!_ but it was warm, Vizier," he said. "I am delighted at last to have the honour and the supreme pleasure of meeting you." "Your Excellency," replied the Vizier, "the fame of Count Moranoff has for long inspired me with an intense wish that we should meet. Allah has at last granted the desire of my life. Will your Excellency seat yourself? Here is coffee _alla Turca_." The count drew up his chair, and took the proffered cup. As he lit a cigarette, his eyes travelled appreciatively over the portraits of a dozen Dentons, famous in the service of their country. "It is fitting we should meet here," he said, "surrounded by these illustrious gentlemen, who look on, but cannot move. It is prophetic." "It is Kismet," said the Vizier gravely. "Kismet, assisted by two statesmen," returned the Count. "Exactly. But I mustn't lose time, Vizier, as our moments are precious." He put his hand into his breast pocket, and produced a document. "Here is the draft of our understanding, arranged so far as is possible with three thousand versts between us. Now we must discuss the final details. I have indicated my suggestions, and if they meet with your approval it will be possible for us to sign before you leave London." The Persian watched the smoke rings float upward. "There is no haste," he said. "'Fruit ripens slowly under grey skies,' as our poet sings."