A particularly beautiful limousine stopped before the door of Welch, Boon & Shaw, the renowned jewelers, on Fifth Avenue. There alighted from it, on this cold but bright January day, a tall, well-built man, erect, square-shouldered, head held high. He wore a fur-lined overcoat with a beautiful mink collar, and a mink cap. He was one of those blond-mustached, ruddy-complexioned, daily-cold-plunge British officers you sometimes see in Ottawa. He walked quickly into the shop and spoke to the first clerk he saw. “Where's the proprietor?” “Who?” “The proprietor of the shop!” He spoke with a pronounced English accent. His eyes were gray and cold. They looked a trifle close together, but that may have been from the frown--said frown impressing even a casual observer as a chronic affair. His appearance, even without the frown, was aristocratic. “Do you wish,” said the clerk, politely, “to see Mr. Boon or Mr. Shaw?” “I wish to see the man who owns this shop; the--ah--boss, I think you call it here.” “Well, Mr. Boon--” began the clerk, about to explain. “I don't care if it's Mr. Loon or Mr. Coon. Be quick, please!” he said, peremptorily. The clerk, now resenting the stranger's words, tone, manner, attitude, nationality, and ancestry, turned to a floor-walker person and called: “Mr. Smith, this--ahem--gentleman wishes to see one of the firm.” Mr. Smith came forward, smiling suavely. “You wish to see one of the firm, sir?” He bowed in advance. “Yes. That's the third time I've said what I wish. I have no time to lose and not much patience, either!” He twitched his neck and twisted his head as though his collar were too tight. It was a habit, and it became more pronounced with his annoyance. All the clerks noticed it. Mr. Smith bit his lip and said, very politely: “Yes, sir. It happens that none of them is in at present. If you will tell me what you wish to see them about I may suggest--” The fur-coated man turned on his heel, his face dark red with annoyance, and started to leave the shop. “Good-by, old Jerk-Neck!” muttered the offended clerk. Mr. Boon entered at that very moment. “Here's Mr. Boon, our senior partner,” said Mr. Smith, with an irritation in his voice that he could not conceal, and that now gave Mr. Boon his cue. “You wish to see me?” Mr. Boon asked it very coldly, ready to say no. “You have an annoying set of clerks here,” said the fur-coated stranger. “I wished to see one of the firm and--” “You see him now,” interrupted Mr. Boon, letting the words drop out with an effect of broken icicles. “I am Mr. Boon.” “My good man, I came after some pearl necklaces and a few rings, and trinkets. Do make haste! I am Colonel Lowther.” “Indeed! Well, what if you are Colonel Lowther?” In Mr. Boon's eyes was a look that made all the clerks in the store busy themselves with their own affairs. Explosions scatter dangerous fragments that may injure lookers-on. The fur-coated Englishman stared at the sizzling jeweler in amazement.