Suddenly he saw that there was a third person in the room, and glanced at Keyork in surprise. “I want to speak a few words with you alone,” he said. “I would not trouble you but----” “Not in the least, not in the least, my dear friend!” asseverated Keyork, motioning him to a chair beside the board. “But we are not alone,” observed the Wanderer, still standing and looking at the stranger. Keyork saw the glance and understood. He broke into peals of laughter. “That!” he exclaimed, presently. “That is only the Individual. He will not disturb us. Pray be seated.” “I assure you that my business is very private--” the Wanderer objected. “Quite so--of course. But there is nothing to fear. The Individual is my servant--a most excellent creature who has been with me for many years. He cooks for me, cleans the specimens, and takes care of me in all ways. A most reliable man, I assure you.” “Of course, if you can answer for his discretion----” The Individual was standing at a little distance from the table observing the two men intently but respectfully with his keen little black eyes. The rest of his square, dark face expressed nothing. He had perfectly straight, jet-black hair which hung evenly all around his head and flat against his cheeks. He was dressed entirely in a black robe of the nature of a kaftan, gathered closely round his waist by a black girdle, and fitting tightly over his stalwart shoulders. “His discretion is beyond all doubt,” Keyork answered, “and for the best of all reasons. He is totally deaf and dumb and absolutely illiterate. I brought him years ago in Astrakhan, of a Russian friend. He is very clever with his fingers. It is he who stole for me the Malayan lady’s head over there, after she was executed. And now, my dear friend, let us have supper.” There were neither plates nor knives nor forks upon the table, and at a sign from Keyork the Individual retired to procure those Western incumbrances to eating. The Wanderer, acquainted as he had long been with his host’s eccentricities, showed little surprise, but understood that whatever he said would not be overheard, any more than if they had been alone. He hesitated a moment, however, for he had not determined exactly how far it was necessary to acquaint Keyork with the circumstances, and he was anxious to avoid all reference to Unorna’s folly in regard to himself. The Individual returned, bringing, with other things, a drinking-glass for the Wanderer. Keyork filled it and then filled his own. It was clear that ascetic practices formed no part of his scheme for the prolongation of life. As he raised his glass to his lips, his bright eyes twinkled. “To Keyork’s long life and happiness,” he said calmly, and then sipped the wine. “And now for your story,” he added, brushing the brown drops from his white moustache with a small damask napkin which the Individual presented to him and immediately received again, to throw it aside as unfit for a second use.