"Did you know him twenty years ago?" asked Blümenlein, after they had talked of the late tenant, and his successful career in Paris. "No, I never saw him till just before his marriage, about seven years ago." "Ah, then you did not know him as a young man. I have a photograph of him in that drawer, yonder," pointing to a writing-table by the fireplace, "taken fifteen years ago, when he was beginning to make his fortune; when the Crédit Mauresque was at the height of its popularity. It went to smash afterwards, as, no doubt, you know; but Wyllard contrived to get out of it with clean hands--only just contrived." "You mean to say that his part of the transaction was open to doubt?" "My dear sir, on the Bourse, during the Empire, everything was, more or less, open to doubt. There were only two irrefragable facts in the financial world of that time. There was a great deal of money made, and a great deal of money lost. Mr. Wyllard was a very clever man, and he contrived to be from first to last on the winning side. Nobody ever brought any charge of foul play against him; and, in this matter, he was luckier, or cleverer, than the majority of his compeers." "I should like to see that photograph of which you spoke just now," said Heathcote. "You shall see it. A clever face, a remarkable face, I take it," answered Blümenlein, unlocking a drawer, and producing a photograph. Yes, it was a fine head, a powerful head, instinct with wondrous vitality, with the energy of a man bound to dominate others, in any sphere of life; a master of whatever craft he practised. It was not the face of abstract intellect. The white, cold light of the student did not illumine those eyes, nor did the calm of the student's tranquil temper inform the mouth. There was passion in the face; strongest human feelings were expressed there; the love of love, the hate of hate. "It is a marvellous face for a money-grubber," exclaimed Heathcote, "an extraordinary countenance for a man who could shut himself from all the charms of the world, such a world as the Second Empire--a man who could be indifferent to art, beauty, wit, music, social pleasures of all kinds, and live only for his cash-box and bank-book. Difficult to reconcile this face with the life which we are told Wyllard led in these rooms."