There was also another guest, an American - but I shall say more of this later. People were still in the drawing-room, whetting their appetites for dinner, and giving the latecomers icy looks. The servant announced that a Mr. Lloyd Hastings had arrived. The moment the usual civilities were over, Hastings caught sight of me. He came straight over with an outstretched hand; then stopped short just before he shook my hand. He said, with an embarrassed look:

'I beg your pardon, sir, I thought I knew you. Are you the - the ...'.

'Vest-pocket monster? I am, indeed. Don't be afraid to call me by my nickname; I'm used to it.'

'Well, well, this is a surprise. Once or twice I've seen your name together with that nickname. I never thought that you could be the Henry Adams people were talking about. Just six months ago you were working for Blake Hopkins in San Francisco, and staying up nights on a second job, helping me arrange and verify the papers and statistics on the Gould and Curry Mine Extension. The idea of your being in London, and a millionaire, and a huge celebrity! Why, it's the Arabian Nights come again. Man, I just can't believe it; can't comprehend it. Give me time to settle the whirl in my head.'