of the three thousand odd. The closure was attributed to a whim of
Hugo's for celebrating some obscure anniversary in his life. Many
hundreds of persons were inconvenienced, and the internal economy of
scores of polite homes seriously deranged. The evening papers found a
paragraph. And Hugo lost perhaps a hundred and fifty pounds net. But
Hugo was happy, and he was expectant.

At ten o'clock that night a youngish man, extremely like Simon Shawn,
was brought by Simon into Hugo's presence under the dome. This was
Simon's brother, Albert Shawn, a member of Hugo's private detective
force.

'Sit down,' said Hugo. 'Well?'

'I reckon you've heard, sir,' Albert Shawn began impassively, 'the yarn
that's going all round the stores.'

'I have not.'

'Everyone's whispering,' said Albert Shawn, gazing carefully at his
boots, 'that Mr. Hugo has taken a kind of a fancy to Miss Payne.'

Hugo restrained himself.

'Heavens!' he exclaimed, with a clever affectation of lightness, 'what
next? I've only spoken to the chit once.'

'Don't I know it, sir!'

'Enough of that! What have you to report?'