hate. They wavered and fell beneath the level, icy stare of the
American. Philip's fingers slipped viselike along the other's wrists
and Philip's voice grew more acidly polite.

"My dear Themar," he regretted, falling unconsciously into the language
of his chief, "I must spoil the symmetry of your wardrobe. The
hieroglyphical cuff, if you please."

Themar's snarl was unintelligible. Smiling, Philip unbuttoned the
stiff band of linen and drew it slowly off.

"A pity!" said he with gentle, sarcastic apology in his eyes. "Such
perfect work! And after all that infernal bother of stealing the key!"

Philip lightly dropped the cuff into the pocket of his coat.

"And the key, Themar," he reminded gently, "the key to the Baron's
desk? . . . Ah, so it's still here. Excellent! And now that the
drawer is locked again--"

The hall door creaked. Simultaneously Themar and Philip wheeled. The
Baron stood in the doorway.

Philip smiled and bowed.

"Excellency," said he, "Themar in an over-zealous desire to rearrange
your private papers has acquired your private key and I have taken the
liberty of confiscating it, knowing that you prize its possession.
Permit me to return it now."