CHAPTER II


THE COMPACT

The Baron Franz von Kerber was in evening dress. He was engrossed in
the examination of a faded, or discolored, document when Royson was
shown into an apartment, nominally the drawing-room, which the present
tenant had converted into a spacious study. An immense map of the Red
Sea littoral, drawn and colored by hand, hung on one of the walls;
there were several chart cases piled on a table; and a goodly number of
books, mainly ancient tomes, were arranged on shelves or stacked on
floor and chairs. This was the room of a worker. Von Kerber's elegant
exterior was given a new element of importance by his surroundings.

That was as much as Royson could note before the Baron looked up from
the letter he was reading. It demanded close scrutiny, because it was
written in Persi-Arabic.

"Ah, glad to see you, Mr. King," he said affably. "Sit there," and he
pointed to an empty chair. Dick knew that this seat in particular was
selected because it would place him directly in front of a cluster of
electric lights. He waited until the door was closed.

"By the way," he said, "why do you call me 'King'? That is not my name,
but it is rather extraordinary that you should have hit on it, because
it is part of a nickname I had at school."

He was fully at ease now. Poverty and anxiety can throw even a Napoleon