Good-night, Mr.Savelli." As he shook hands Paul met the sorrowful liquid eyes fixed on him with strange earnestness.

"I must thank you for your charming hospitality.

I hope you'll allow me to come and see you again." "My house is yours." It was a phrase--a phrase of Castilian politeness--oddly out of place in the mouth of a Free Zionist purveyor of fried fish.

But it seemed to have more than a Castilian, more than a Free Zionist significance.

He was still pondering over it when Mr.Finn, having bidden Jane and Barney Bill good-night, disappeared.
"Ah!" said Barney Bill, lifting up the beer jug in order to refill his glass, and checked whimsically by the fact of its emptiness.