“My dear girl,” she said, “you are not going to be so... crack-brained... as to stand here... arguing and contracting... rheumatism, lumbago... and other absurd complaints... when you know PERFECTLY well that we had already arranged to go... to supper!” She turned to the smiling Max. “This girl needs... DRAGGING out of... her morbid self... M. Gaston! We'll accept... your cab, on the distinct... understanding that YOU are to accept OUR invitation... to supper.” M. Max bowed agreeably. “By all means let MY cab take us to YOUR supper,” he said, laughing. XXII M. MAX MOUNTS CAGLIOSTRO'S STAIRCASE At a few minutes before midnight, Helen Cumberly and Denise Ryland, escorted by the attentive Frenchman, arrived at Palace Mansions. Any distrust which Helen had experienced at first was replaced now by the esteem which every one of discrimination (criminals excluded) formed of M. Max. She perceived in him a very exquisite gentleman, and although the acquaintance was but one hour old, counted him a friend. Denise Ryland was already quite at home in the Cumberly household, and she insisted that Dr. Cumberly would be deeply mortified should M. Gaston take his departure without making his acquaintance. Thus it came about that M. Gaston Max was presented (as “M. Gaston”) to Dr. Cumberly. Cumberly, who had learned to accept men and women upon his daughter's estimate, welcomed the resplendent Parisian hospitably; the warm, shaded lights made convivial play in the amber deeps of the decanters, and the cigars had a fire-side fragrance which M. Max found wholly irresistible. The ladies being momentarily out of ear-shot, M. Gaston glancing rapidly about him, said: “May I beg a favor, Dr. Cumberly?” “Certainly, M. Gaston,” replied the physician--he was officiating at the syphon. “Say when.” “When!” said Max. “I should like to see you in Harley Street to-morrow morning.” Cumberly glanced up oddly. “Nothing wrong, I hope?” “Oh, not professionally,” smiled Max; “or perhaps I should say only semi-professionally. Can you spare me ten minutes?” “My book is rather full in the morning, I believe,” said Cumberly, frowning thoughtfully, “and without consulting it--which, since it is in Harley Street, is impossible--I scarcely know when I shall be at liberty. Could we not lunch together?” Max blew a ring of smoke from his lips and watched it slowly dispersing. “For certain reasons,” he replied, and his odd American accent became momentarily more perceptible, “I should prefer that my visit had the appearance of being a professional one.” Cumberly was unable to conceal his surprise, but assuming that his visitor had good reason for the request, he replied after a moment's reflection: “I should propose, then, that you come to Harley Street at, shall we say, 9.30? My earliest professional appointment is at 10. Will that inconvenience you?” “Not at all,” Max assured him; “it will suit me admirably.”