which, based in the Levant, spreads its ramifications throughout the Orient, Near and Far.
Mr. Gianapolis had the suave speech and smiling manner. He greeted Soames not as one greets a prospective servant, but as one welcomes an esteemed acquaintance. Following a brief chat, he proposed an adjournment to a neighboring saloon bar; and there, over cocktails, he conversed with Mr. Soames as one crook with another.
Soames was charmed, fascinated, yet vaguely horrified; for this man smilingly threw off the cloak of hypocrisy from his companion’s shoulders, and pretended, with the skill of his race, equally to nudify his own villainy.
“My dear Mr. Soames!” he said, speaking almost perfect English, but with the sing-song intonation of the Greek, and giving all his syllables an equal value—“you are the man I am looking for; and I can make your fortune.”
This was entirely in accordance with Mr. Soames’ own views, and he nodded, respectfully.
“I know,” continued Gianapolis, proffering an excellent Egyptian cigarette, “that you were cramped in your last situation—that you were misunderstood”…
Soames, cigarette in hand, suppressed a start, and wondered if he were turning pale. He selected a match with nervous care.
“The little matter of the silver spoons,” continued Gianapolis, smiling fraternally, “was perhaps
