His perplexing experience developed so insistent a curiosity in Tom that he grew irritable even as he walked. That some sort of a game was being worked he had no doubt; but the fact that he could see no object or motive increased his wrath. He discarded all suggestion of violence, though he was bound to admit now that anybody could be kidnapped in New York in broad daylight. He decided to begin by verifying those allusions and references that he remembered. He walked down the Avenue to the Public Library and there he read what he could of Apollonius and of Eligius, the marvelous goldsmith who afterward became Saint Eloi. The helpful and polite library assistant at length suggested a visit to Dr. Lentz, the gem expert of Goffony & Company, a man of vast erudition as well as a practical jeweler. Tom promptly betook himself to the famous jewel-shop. They knew the heir of the seventy-five Merri-wether millions, and impressively ushered him into Dr. Lentz's office. Tom shook hands with the fat little man, whose wonderfully shaped head had on it no hair worth speaking of, and handed him the pearl he had picked out from the dozen the man in 777 Fifth Avenue had placed before him. Dr. Lentz looked at it, weighed it in his hand, and, without waiting to be asked any questions, answered what nearly everybody always asked him: “Persian Gulf. About fifteen grains--perhaps a little more. We sell some like it for about thirty-five hundred dollars.” “Thanks,” said Tom, and put the pearl in his pocket. If it was a joke it was expensive. If not, the other pearls the man had shown, nearly all of which were larger, must have been worth from fifty thousand to a hundred thousand dollars. Such is the power of money that this young man, destined to be one of the richest men in the world and, moreover, one who did not particularly think about money, was nevertheless impressed by the stranger's careless handling of the valuable pearls. He concluded subconsciously that the talisman was even more valuable. He took the package from his coat pocket and gave it to Dr. Lentz. “Raw silk--Syrian,” murmured the gem expert, and undid the covering. “Ha! Italo-Byzantine. The Raising of Tabitha. No! no!” He glared at young Merriwether, who retreated a step. “Very rare! It's the Raising of Jairus's Daughter. Same workmanship in similar specimen in the Lipsanoteca, Museo Civico, Brescia. If so, not later than fourth century. Very rare! H'm!” “Is it?” said Tom. “I don't know much about ivories.” “No? Read Molinier! Græven!” “Thank you. I will, Dr. Lentz.” Dr. Lentz opened the little ivory box and pulled out the silver case. “Ha! H'm! Not so rare! Asia Minor. Probably eighth century.” “B C?” “Certainly not. Key? H'm!” “Haven't got it here,” evaded Tom. The little savant turned to his secretary and said, “Bring drawer marked forty-four, inner compartment, antique-gem safe.”