with golden embroidery, and had white soles an inch thick. Authority lent
inches to his stature, so that he seemed to dominate his company physically
as well as spiritually.

A pace or two in the rear Shaik Tsin, with impassive face and arms folded
in voluminous sleeves, waited as might a bodyguard.

A sardonic glimmer in eyes half visible under heavy lids alone betrayed
relish of the situation, the homage commanded and the sensation created by
this inopportune and unheralded arrival: deliberately Number One mounted
the dais and posed himself in the throne-like chair. Then, as his look read
face after face, he smiled with twitching and disdainful nostrils.

"Gentlemen of the Council," he said, slowly, "I bow to you all. Pray be
seated."

In confounded silence the six resumed their seats, while the seventh--who
had not moved--lighted a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and through a veil of
smoke continued to regard Number One with insolent eyes.

"I fear my arrival was ill-timed, gentlemen. Seven had the floor, and I
confess to finding what I happened to overhear extremely interesting. If he
will be good enough to continue ..."

The Irishman gave a light, derisive laugh. Shifting uneasily in his chair,
the man in the checked suit flushed darkly, then stiffened his spine,
hardened his eyes, set his jaw, and faced Number One defiantly.

"You 'eard ... I 'olds by w'at I said."