However, the colonel merely said “Home!” and entered the motor, followed by Mr. Boon and T. Donnelly. The store footman closed the door as if it were made of priceless cut-glass. The traffic policeman touched his cap and the motor went up the Avenue. The colonel picked up a newspaper from the seat and turned to Mr. Boon. “See!” he said, “our pictures. Your reporters are--ah!--very enterprising and clever. But the photographers are worse!” He laughed and went on: “The pictures don't look like me, d'ye think?” “I recognize the coat and the fur cap,” laughed Mr. Boon. “Oh, do you?” said the colonel, seriously. He looked at it and said: “But it might be my other fur cap, you know. What?” He looked challengingly at the jeweler. “It might be,” admitted Mr. Boon, diplomatically confessing his error. “Quite so!” said the owner of the fur cap, triumphantly. Mr. Boon, finding himself nearer the house of the duke's host, began to feel more confident of putting through the epoch-making deal. It is not often that a New York jeweler sells pearls to an uncle of the King of England, to be used by the king's most beautiful cousin! He would have the princess's photograph in his window. It should show the famous necklace! The motor took its place last in the long string of automobiles and carriages that were creeping toward the door of the house which his Royal Highness was honoring. “Democracy meekly leaving its card at the house of royalty,” laughed the colonel, pointing to the twoscore vehicles ahead of theirs. “Americans paying their respects to an Englishman who is honored even in his own country,” said Mr. Boon. “Oh, now, I say, Boon, that's uncommonly neat, you know. What? But perhaps we'd better get out and walk; otherwise it may be a half-hour before--” A footman in livery came up to their motor, touched his hat with a respect that entitled him to a bank president's wages, and said to the colonel: “I beg pardon, sir, but 'is Royal 'ighness 'as gone to Mr. Walton's, sir, at number 899 Fifth Avenue. I was hinstructed to tell you to go there, sir.” “Tell the chauffeur where to go,” said the colonel, briefly. “Yes, sir--very good, sir.” The man touched his hat and told the chauffeur. Their motor pulled out of the line and turned to the west. “Mr. Walton was at Eton with the duke,” explained the colonel to Mr. Boon. “J. G. Walton?” asked Mr. Boon. “Yes.” “I didn't know he was educated in England,” said Mr. Boon in a tone that implied he knew Mr. Walton well. “Didn't you?” said the colonel, more sharply than the occasion warranted. “But then, we never discussed the subject,” apologized the jeweler. “Do you know the house?” “Yes. I've been in it several times. I understood Mr. Walton was in Florida and had rented his residence for the winter.” “I don't know a bally thing about his private affairs,” said the colonel, coldly; “but I do know the duke intended to visit him, and I've been told to go there.”