O’Hagan entered my rooms with the impressive dignity of a Richelieu; in the very distinction of the man there is something opulent. His refined _insouciance_ surpasses anything of the kind one could imagine. “Will you do me a trifling service, Raymond?” “Consider it as done.” He threw himself into the blue Chesterfield lounge with the native grace no lesser man could hope to imitate. His pose suggested that a rapier hung at his hip and must be taken into consideration. A plumed hat would have struck no discordant note but merely have harmonised with the purple-lined cloak. O’Hagan’s head one might surmise to be from a study by Van Dyck. “I am running around to Ritzmann’s, the music-publishers, in Berners Street.” Now, I noted that he carried a full portfolio. “At last you have decided to enter the field? You do wisely.” “I am acting on behalf of a friend—a lady.” “Indeed. What part do I play?” “Come along. I will explain.” We walked up Oxford Street to the corner of Berners Street. O’Hagan creates a sensation wherever he appears: I am hardened to this. “You will reconnoitre, Raymond. You will send in a card—anybody’s card but your own—to Mr. Paul Ritzmann.” “What!” “You are representing Messrs. Angelo Morris, of Monte Video! Probably there is no such firm; I invented the name. You are prepared to handle Ritzmann’s dance-catalogue throughout the southern continent. If he declines to do business, no matter; if he is interested, make an appointment at your hotel—the Savoy sounds substantial without being gaudy.” “What is the object of this mendacity?” “To learn if there is a second door to Ritzmann’s office; another than that opening on the shop. If there is, come out by it at all costs, and note where it leads you to. I think, and hope, it will open on a corridor communicating with the street. From what I know of Ritzmann I feel confident that there will be such a private entrance. You will note, also, where the _other_ end of this hypothetical passage leads to. Probably it will be to a stair. Finally, you will report respecting the occupant of the suite of offices above—the suite to which this stair should conduct you.” “I am not confident,” I said; “but I will do my best.” Three minutes later I was ushered into the Semitic presence of Mr. Paul Ritzmann. Mr. Ritzmann had a corpulent person, a bald head, and an oily smile. He wore diamond rings on his left hand as well as on his right, by which token I knew that he was really rich. A Hebrew of the Ritzmann type buys a diamond ring as soon as he can afford it, and displays it upon his right hand. That is an advertising investment; it signifies that he is ambitious. But when his right hand is full and he begins to adorn his left it implies that his ambition is realised. He made no plunge at my South American offer. He was very cautious.