FullReads

After robbing the duchess of three suppers, Sam descended to the hall and from an attendant received his coat and hat, which latter the attendant offered him with the inside of the hat showing. Sam saw in it the trademark of a foreign maker.

“That’s not my hat,” said Sam.

The man expressed polite disbelief.

“I found it rolled up in the pocket of your greatcoat, sir,” he protested.

The words reminded Sam that on arriving at Deptford House he had twisted the hat into a roll and stuffed it into his overcoat pocket.

“Quite right,” said Sam. But it was not his hat; and with some hope of still recovering his property he made way for other departing guests and at one side waited.

For some clew to the person he believed was now wearing his hat, Sam examined the one in his hand. Just showing above the inside band was something white. Thinking it might be the card of the owner, Sam removed it. It was not a card, but a long sheet of thin paper, covered with typewriting, and many times folded. Sam read the opening paragraph. Then he backed suddenly toward a great chair of gold and velvet, and fell into it.

He was conscious the attendants in pink stockings were regarding him askance; that, as they waited in the drafty hall for cars and taxis, the noble lords in stars and ribbons, the noble ladies in tiaras and showing much-fur-lined galoshes, were discussing his strange appearance. They might well believe the youth was ill; they might easily have considered him intoxicated. Outside rose the voices of servants and police calling the carriages. Inside other servants echoed them.

“The Duchess of Sutherland’s car!” they chanted. “Mrs. Trevor Hill’s carriage! The French ambassador’s carriage! Baron Haussmann’s car!”

Like one emerging from a trance, Sam sprang upright. A little fat man, with mild blue eyes and curly red hair, was shyly and with murmured apologies pushing toward the exit. Before he gained it Sam had wriggled a way to his elbow.

“Baron Haussmann!” he stammered. “I must speak to you. It’s a matter of gravest importance. Send away your car,” he begged, “and give me five minutes.”

The eyes of the little fat man opened wide in surprise, almost in alarm. He stared at Sam reprovingly.

“Impossible!” he murmured. “I–I do not know you.”

“This is a letter of introduction,” said Sam. Into the unwilling fingers of the banker he thrust the folded paper. Bending over him, he whispered in his ear. “That,” said Sam, “is the Treaty of London!”

The alarm of Baron Haussmann increased to a panic.

“Impossible!” he gasped. And, with reproach, he repeated: “I do not know you, sir! I do not know you!”

At that moment, towering above the crush, appeared the tall figure of Senator Seward. The rich man of the New World and the rich man of Europe knew each other only by sight. But, upon seeing Sam in earnest converse with the great banker, the senator believed that without appearing to seek it he might through Sam effect a meeting. With a hearty slap on the shoulder he greeted his fellow countryman.

“Halloo, Sam!” he cried genially. “You walking home with me?”

Sam did not even turn his head.

“No!” he snapped. “I’m busy. Go ‘way!”

Crimson, the senator disappeared. Baron Haussmann regarded the young stranger with amazed interest.

“You know him!” he protested. “He called you Sam!”

“Know him?” cried Sam impatiently. “I’ve got to know him! He’s going to be my father-in-law.”

The fingers of the rich man clutched the folded paper as the claws of a parrot cling to the bars of his cage. He let his sable coat slip into the hands of a servant; he turned back toward the marble staircase.

“Come!” he commanded.

Sam led him to the secluded corner Polly and he had left vacant and told his story.