His host had already observed the approaching visitor with some surprise, and none too graciously. It was Valentine Corliss: he had turned in from the street and was crossing the lawn to join the two young men. Lindley rose, and, greeting him with sufficient cordiality, introduced Mr. Vilas, who bestowed upon the newcomer a very lively interest. "You are as welcome, Mr. Corliss," said this previous guest, earnestly, "as if these sylvan shades were mine. I hail you, not only for your own sake, but because your presence encourages a hope that our host may offer refreshment to the entire company." Corliss smilingly declined to be a party to this diplomacy, and seated himself beside Richard Lindley on the bench. "Then I relapse!" exclaimed Mr. Vilas, throwing himself back full-length in the hammock. "I am not replete, but content. I shall meditate. Gentlemen, speak on!" He waved his hand in a gracious gesture, indicating his intention to remain silent, and lay quiet, his eyes fixed steadfastly upon Corliss. "I was coming to call on you," said the latter to Lindley, "but I saw you from the street and thought you mightn't mind my being as informal as I used to be, so many years ago." "Of course," said Richard. "I have a sinister purpose in coming," Mr. Corliss laughingly went on. "I want to bore you a little first, and then make your fortune. No doubt that's an old story to you, but I happen to be one of the adventurers whose argosies are laden with real cargoes. Nobody knows who has or hasn't money to invest nowadays, and of course I've no means of knowing whether _you_ have or not--you see what a direct chap I am--but if you have, or can lay hold of some, I can show you how to make it bring you an immense deal more." "Naturally," said Richard pleasantly, "I shall be glad if you can do that." "Then I'll come to the point. It is exceedingly simple; that's certainly one attractive thing about it." Corliss took some papers and unmounted photographs from his pocket, and began to spread them open on the bench between himself and Richard. "No doubt you know Southern Italy as well as I do." "Oh, I don't `know' it. I've been to Naples; down to Paestum; drove from Salerno to Sorrentoby Amalfi; but that was years ago." "Here's a large scale map that will refresh your memory." He unfolded it and laid it across their knees; it was frayed with wear along the folds, and had been heavily marked and dotted with red and blue pencillings. "My millions are in this large irregular section," he continued. "It's the anklebone and instep of Italy's boot; this sizable province called Basilicata, east of Salerno, north of Calabria. And I'll not hang fire on the point, Lindley. What I've got there is oil." "Olives?" asked Richard, puzzled.