"But I assure you, sir," the head waiter said, "we have no waiter here
who answers to the description of the man you mention. They are all here
now, every waiter who has entered the room to-night. If you will be so
good as to pick out the one who has offended you--"

Fenwick's startled, bloodshot eyes ranged slowly over the array of
waiters which had been gathered for his inspection round his table.
Presently he shook his head with an impatient gesture.

"I tell you, he is not here," he cried. "The man is not here. He is quite
small, with very queer, black hair."

The head waiter was equally positive in his assurance. Louder rose the
angry voice of the millionaire, till at length Venner was aroused from
his reverie and looked up to Gurdon to know what was going on. The latter
explained as far as possible, not omitting to describe the strange matter
of the silver box. Venner smiled with the air of a man who could say a
great deal if he chose.

"It is all part of the programme," he said. "That will come in my story
later on. But what puzzles me is where that handsome cripple comes in.
The mystery deepens."

By this time Fenwick's protestations had grown weaker. He seemed to
ramble on in a mixture of English and Portuguese which was exceedingly
puzzling to the head waiter, who still was utterly in the dark as to the
cause of offence. Most of the diners had gathered round the millionaire's
table with polite curiosity, and sundry offers of assistance.