Nina raised her eyebrows as she looked at Derby.  “You said you were going to Arizona!” she said accusingly.

But Derby’s expression showed that he was as much in the dark as she.  Mr. Randolph wagged his head as though altogether pleased with the situation.  “Of course, he is going to Arizona, and very likely he’ll stay there—­on the other hand, maybe he won’t.  Now that’s something for you to think about besides speculating on the length of name of each stranger you meet.”  He kissed her affectionately on both cheeks and, giving Derby barely a chance to shake hands with her, hurried him away.

People were beginning their final good-byes, and from where Nina and her friends stood by the deck rail, there was a clear view of the gang plank and the ship’s departing visitors.  It was from this vantage that several pairs of envious young masculine eyes, looking downward, saw the right hand of the great and only James B. Randolph affectionately laid on the broad shoulder of an ex-oarsman and football player.  And for as long as the two were in sight it was the ex-oarsman who talked, and the great financier who listened.

CHAPTER IV

THE DUKE SCORPA MAKES A DEAL

In the branch office of Shayne & Co., in the Via Condotti, Rome, Mr. Shayne arose from his desk, rearranged his diamond scarf-pin in his gray satin Ascot tie, flicked two imaginary particles of dust from his tight-fitting cutaway coat, whisked his silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket and in again, so that the lavender border was visible, cleared his throat, and stood in an attitude of agreeable expectancy.

Directly the door of his private room was discreetly opened, admitting a square-jawed, beetle-browed man, heavy and ugly—­a coarse type, yet not without distinction.  The two men did not shake hands.  Mr. Christopher Shayne bowed blandly, deferentially, yet not servilely, and again he cleared his throat.  The visitor nodded as though there upon an affair of business that he was anxious to have terminated as speedily as possible.

“Will you be seated?—­I think you will find this chair comfortable.”  Mr. Shayne indicated a chair with a wave of his hand.  “The letter which I have from your Excellency is a trifle indefinite.  But I take it that you have something of more than ordinary importance to communicate.”  He finished his sentence by giving his mustache a thoughtful twirl upward, first on one side and then on the other.

The Duke Scorpa let his rat-like eyes rest a moment upon the alert face of Mr. Shayne before he answered:  “You said once in my presence that you had long wanted to acquire a Raphael.  I am in a position at present to offer you one.”

“A Raphael!” Shayne showed genuine surprise.  “I do not remember one in your collection.”

“It is not in my own collection.  Before giving you further details, however, I must be assured that you are still anxious to purchase, and also that you will observe strict secrecy with regard to it.”