The house looked strangely unfamiliar with its blaze of
lights and throng of arriving guests. He instinctively felt in his pocket
for his latch-key, and then remembered, and waited for the strange butler
to open the door. The inside of the house looked even less natural than
the outside. The floors were cleared for dancing and the mantels were
banked high with flowers and ferns. Under the steps the musicians were
already tuning their instruments.
"Upstairs, sir; first room to your left," said the important person at
the door, and Quin followed the stream of black-coated figures who were
filing up the stairs and turning into the room he had occupied a short
week ago. It was just as he had left it, except for the picture that no
longer adorned the mantel.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the lofty attendant who took his overcoat, "your
stud's come loose."
"I bet the damn thing's going to do that all night," Quin said
confidentially. "Say, you haven't got a pin, have you?"
"Oh, no, sir, it couldn't be pinned," protested the man in a shocked
tone.
Quin adjusted it as best he could, took a final look at himself in the
mirror, and proceeded downstairs.
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