“Yes, sir--he is, sir. I told him the moment he came in, sir.” He looked as uncomfortable as a lifelong habit of impassivity permitted. “What did he say?” asked Tom. “He said: 'How much did he offer to give you when you said I wasn't at home?' Yes, sir. That's what he asked me.” “And you said?” “I said it was a yellowback, sir. That's all I could see. I said I wouldn't take it, and he said I might just as well have taken it. Thank you, sir! This way, sir.” The footman led the way to the door in the rear, rapped, and in the sonorous, triumphant voice that a twenty-dollar tip will give to any menial he announced: “Mr. Merriwether!” The same man was in the same chair in the same room, with his back to the stained-glass window. Tom recalled all the incidents of his previous visits--recalled every detail. Also the old question: What is the game? Also the new question: Where is she? The man rose and bowed. It was the bow of a social equal, Tom saw. “Good morning, Mr. Merriwether. Won't you be seated, sir?” And he motioned him to a chair. “Thank you.” “How can I serve you?” “Who is the woman?” said Tom, abruptly. “Your fate!” answered the man. “Her name?” “I cannot tell you.” “Her address?” “I don't know it.” “What is your game?” “I have money enough for my whims and time enough to gratify my desire to help you. Eugenics is my hobby. I recognize that I cannot fight against the decree of destiny.” “I am tired of all this humbug.” “I ask nothing of you now. You can go or you can come. You can go to India or to Patagonia--or even farther. You may send detectives and lawyers, or even thugs, to me. You may cease your search for her--if you can!” “You have roused my curiosity--” “That is a sign of intelligence.” “I tell you now that I don't believe a word of what you say.” “Free country, young man.” “I've had enough of this nonsense--” “Though I am always glad to see you, young sir, and would not wound your feelings for worlds”--the man's voice was very polite, but also very cold--“I might be forgiven for observing that I did not ask you to call.” “I'll give you a thousand dollars--” The man stopped him with a deprecatory wave of the hand. “One of the pearls I offered you, Mr. Merriwether, is valued at ten thousand dollars. You did not select that one; but I'll exchange the one you took for it--now if you wish.” “That's all very well, but--” Tom paused, and the man cut in: “Do you wish to see her from a safe distance? Or do you wish to talk to her without seeing her? Or--” “To see her and talk to her!” “Wait!” The man intently regarded the tip of Tom's left shoe for fully five minutes. Then he raised his head and clapped his hands twice. The black manservant with the fez appeared. The man said something in Arabic--at least it sounded so to Tom. The black answered. The man spoke again. The black replied: The man said what sounded to Tom like, “_Ay adad_.” The negro answered, “_Al-sabi! Al-sabi wal Saboun_.”