“Clumsy fool,” he said.  “You have hurt me.  Go.”

The girl became very white and began to gather up the articles upon the table.  “I am sorry,” she said, “but—­”

“I do not wish you to speak,” continued the musical voice; “only to go.”

Hurriedly collecting the remainder of the implements and placing them in an attache case, the manicurist hurried from the room.  Her eyes were overbright and her lips pathetically tremulous.  Ormuz Khan never glanced in her direction again, but resumed his disconcerting survey of Parker.  “Yes?” he said.

Parker bumblingly began to remove the lid of the cardboard box which he had brought with him.

“I do not wish you to alter the shoes you have made,” said his excellency.  “I instructed you to remeasure my foot in order that you might make a pair to fit.”

“Yes, sir,” said Parker.  “Quite so, your excellency.”  And he dropped the box and the shoes upon the floor.  “Just a moment, sir?”

From an inner pocket he drew out a large sheet of white paper, a pencil, and a tape measure.  “Will you place your foot upon this sheet of paper, sir?”

Ormuz Khan raised his right foot listlessly.

“Slipper off, please, sir.”

“I am waiting,” replied the other, never removing his gaze from Parker’s face.

“Oh, I beg your pardon sir, your excellency,” muttered the bootmaker.

Dropping upon one knee, he removed the furred slipper from a slender, arched foot, bare, of the delicate colour of ivory, and as small as a woman’s.

“Now, sir.”

The ivory foot was placed upon the sheet of paper, and very clumsily Parker drew its outline.  He then took certain measurements and made a number of notes with a stub of thick pencil.  Whenever his none too clean hands touched Ormuz Khan’s delicate skin the Oriental perceptibly shuddered.

“Of course, sir,” said Parker at last, “I should really have taken your measurement with the sock on.”

“I wear only the finest silk.”

“Very well, sir.  As you wish.”

Parker replaced paper, pencil, and measure, and, packing up the rejected shoes, made for the door.

“Oh, bootmaker!” came the musical voice.

Parker turned.  “Yes, sir?”

“They will be ready by Monday?”

“If possible, your excellency.”

“Otherwise I shall not accept them.”

Ormuz Khan drew a hyacinth from a vase close beside him and languidly waved it in dismissal.

In the outer room the courteous secretary awaited Parker, and there was apparently no one else in the place, for the Hindu conducted him to the lobby and opened the door.

Parker said “Good morning, sir,” and would have departed without his hat had not the secretary smilingly handed it to him.

When, presently, the cobbler emerged from the elevator, below, he paused before leaving the hotel to mop his perspiring brow with a large, soiled handkerchief.  The perfume of hyacinths seemed to have pursued him, bringing with it a memory of the handsome, effeminate ivory face of the man above.  He was recalled to his senses by the voice of the impudent page.