"Oh! that's a long story," answered Alan in an absent voice. "My uncle,
who was a missionary, brought it from West Africa. I rather forget the
facts, but Jeekie, my negro servant, knows them all, for as a lad my
uncle saved him from sacrifice, or something, in a place where they
worship these things, and he has been with us ever since. It is a fetish
with magical powers and all the rest of it. I believe they call it the
Swimming Head and other names. If you look at it, you will see that it
seems to swim between the shoulders, doesn't it?"

"Yes," said Sir Robert, "and I admire the beautiful beast. She is cruel
and artistic, like--like finance. Look here, Vernon, we have quarrelled,
and of course henceforth are enemies, for it is no use mincing matters,
only fools do that. But in a way you are being hardly treated. You
could get £10 apiece to-day for those shares of yours in a block on the
market, and I am paying you £1. I understand your scruples, but there
is no reason why we should not square things. This fetish of yours has
brought me luck, so let's do a deal. Leave it here, and instead of a
check for £1700, I will make you one out for £17,000."

"That's a very liberal offer," said Vernon. "Give me a moment to think
it over."

Then he also walked into the corner of the room and contemplated the
golden mask that seemed to float between the frog-like shoulders. The
shimmering eyes drew his eyes, though what he saw in them does not
matter. Indeed he could never remember. Only when he straightened
himself again there was left on his mind a determination that not
for seventeen or for seventy thousand pounds would he part with his
ownership in this very unique fetish.