The man promptly returned. "Yes, sir." "Ah, let me see." The letters were divided into two small piles: those that were addressed to Sir Andrew, and those for his son. Sir Andrew picked his up. He glanced at the superscription on each envelope, and dealt them back on the tray as though he were dealing playing-cards. At the last one he paused. It was the largest envelope. "That will do," he said, and glanced across at Ruxton as the man passed on up the staircase. He tore the envelope open and stood with the contents of it poised in his hand. "Ruxton." The younger man turned from the fireplace. His eyes were expectant. His father's tone had been sharp. "Yes." "You'd better deal with this." He handed him the lesser envelope, which had been enclosed in the other. Ruxton took it and glanced at it. His father's eyes were watching him closely; they were twinkling. "It is tempting, eh?" Ruxton shook his head. "But Vita trusts us," he said simply. Once again Ruxton found himself looking into the wide eyes and remarkable face of Prince von Hertzwohl. With the simple courtesy which was so much a part of him, the latter had thrust his guest into the only chair his uninviting quarters afforded. For himself, he was more than content with the doubtful flock bed, with its frowsy patchwork quilt. The chair creaked under Ruxton's weight, but he said no word. He was waiting, waiting while the other read the letter he had just put into his hands. Ruxton was disguised in a suit of clothes that left nothing to be desired. Mrs. Clark, the landlady, could have possessed no doubts as to his calling. She knew the type of mechanic too well. Von Hertzwohl was still arrayed in his work-soiled suit, which his intellectual features denied as the yellow lamp-rays fell upon them. Ruxton's outward seeming was calm, but inwardly his active thoughts were teeming. The opportunity which otherwise must have been made had been afforded him without his personal effort. He knew that the crisis in all his plans had arrived. It was for him to turn the course of affairs in his own favor, or accept almost certain defeat. So he waited, coördinating every mental force he could make available. It was a serious, almost pathetic pair of eyes which were at last raised from the letter, which was in Vita's handwriting. There was something almost like dismay in their wide depths as they encountered the steady gaze of Ruxton's. It was a moment of grave embarrassment--but only for Von Hertzwohl. He felt like a man hunted before the gaze of the younger man's dark eyes.