heavy carving of its high back, its massive arms and legs, picked out with
gold.

The six who had anticipated Thirteen at this bizarre rendezvous hailed him
as a familiar, according to their several idiosyncrasies, brusquely,
indifferently, or with some semblance of cordiality. They made a motley
crew.

Two were Englishman in appearance, though the figure of languid elegance in
evening dress that might have graced the lounge of a West End club had a
voice soft with Celtic brogue. The other owned a gross body clothed in loud
checks and, with his mean blue eyes, his mottled complexion, and cunning
leer, would not have seemed out of place in a betting-ring.

Aside from these there were a moon-faced Bengali babu, a dark Italian with
flashing eyes and teeth, and a stout person of bovine Teutonic cast--the
type that is sage, shrewd, easy-going when unopposed, but capable under
provocation of exhibiting the most conscienceless brutality.

From this last Thirteen got his warmest welcome.

"You are late, mine friend."

"In good time, however," Thirteen responded with a nod toward the vacant
chair. "More than that, the summons was handed me only twenty minutes ago."

"How was that?" the babu asked. "It was sent at six o'clock."

"I was at work in the laboratory and had left orders I was not to be
disturbed. But for one thing"--the petulance of Thirteen's habitual