his valet, termed a connoozer.  His educated taste in Art was one of the things which went to make the Cosmopolis different from and superior to other New York hotels.  He had personally selected the tapestries in the dining-room and the various paintings throughout the building.  And in his private capacity he was an enthusiastic collector of things which Professor Binstead, whose tastes lay in the same direction, would have stolen without a twinge of conscience if he could have got the chance.

The professor, a small man of middle age who wore tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, flitted covetously about the room, inspecting its treasures with a glistening eye.  In a corner, Parker, a grave, lean individual, bent over the chafing-dish, in which he was preparing for his employer and his guest their simple lunch.

“Brewster,” said Professor Binstead, pausing at the mantelpiece.

Mr. Brewster looked up amiably.  He was in placid mood to-day.  Two weeks and more had passed since the meeting with Archie recorded in the previous chapter, and he had been able to dismiss that disturbing affair from his mind.  Since then, everything had gone splendidly with Daniel Brewster, for he had just accomplished his ambition of the moment by completing the negotiations for the purchase of a site further down-town, on which he proposed to erect a new hotel.  He liked building hotels.  He had the Cosmopolis, his first-born, a summer hotel in the mountains, purchased in the previous year, and he was toying with the idea of running over to England and putting up another in London, That, however, would have to wait.  Meanwhile, he would concentrate on this new one down-town.  It had kept him busy and worried, arranging for securing the site; but his troubles were over now.

“Yes?” he said.

Professor Binstead had picked up a small china figure of delicate workmanship.  It represented a warrior of pre-khaki days advancing with a spear upon some adversary who, judging from the contented expression on the warrior’s face, was smaller than himself.

“Where did you get this?”

“That?  Mawson, my agent, found it in a little shop on the east side.”

“Where’s the other?  There ought to be another.  These things go in pairs.  They’re valueless alone.”

Mr. Brewster’s brow clouded.

“I know that,” he said shortly.  “Mawson’s looking for the other one everywhere.  If you happen across it, I give you carte blanche to buy it for me.”

“It must be somewhere.”

“Yes.  If you find it, don’t worry about the expense.  I’ll settle up, no matter what it is.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” said Professor Binstead.  “It may cost you a lot of money.  I suppose you know that.”

“I told you I don’t care what it costs.”

“It’s nice to be a millionaire,” sighed Professor Binstead.

“Luncheon is served, sir,” said Parker.

He had stationed himself in a statutesque pose behind Mr. Brewster’s chair, when there was a knock at the door.  He went to the door, and returned with a telegram.