Chapter 4

FROM CLIME TO CLIME,

The chamber in which the bewildered Robert now found himself was more
luxurious, if less rich, than any which he had yet seen. Low settees of
claret-coloured plush were scattered in orderly disorder over a mossy
Eastern carpet. Deep lounges, reclining sofas, American rocking-chairs,
all were to be had for the choosing. One end of the room was walled by
glass, and appeared to open upon a luxuriant hot-house. At the further
end a double line of gilt rails supported a profusion of the most recent
magazines and periodicals. A rack at each side of the inlaid fireplace
sustained a long line of the pipes of all places and nations--English
cherrywoods, French briars, German china-bowls, carved meerschaums,
scented cedar and myall-wood, with Eastern narghiles, Turkish
chibooques, and two great golden-topped hookahs. To right and left were
a series of small lockers, extending in a treble row for the whole
length of the room, with the names of the various brands of tobacco
scrolled in ivory work across them. Above were other larger tiers of
polished oak, which held cigars and cigarettes.

"Try that Damascus settee," said the master of the house, as he threw
himself into a rocking-chair. "It is from the Sultan's upholsterer.
The Turks have a very good notion of comfort. I am a confirmed smoker
myself, Mr. McIntyre, so I have been able, perhaps, to check my
architect here more than in most of the other departments. Of pictures,
for example, I know nothing, as you would very speedily find out. On a
tobacco, I might, perhaps, offer an opinion. Now these"--he drew out
some long, beautifully-rolled, mellow-coloured cigars--"these are really
something a little out of the common. Do try one."

Robert lit the weed which was offered to him, and leaned back
luxuriously amid his cushions, gazing through the blue balmy fragrant
cloud-wreaths at the extraordinary man in the dirty pea-jacket who
spoke of millions as another might of sovereigns. With his pale face,
his sad, languid air, and his bowed shoulders, it was as though he were
crushed down under the weight of his own gold. There was a mute
apology, an attitude of deprecation in his manner and speech, which was
strangely at variance with the immense power which he wielded.
To Robert the whole whimsical incident had been intensely interesting
and amusing. His artistic nature blossomed out in this atmosphere of
perfect luxury and comfort, and he was conscious of a sense of repose
and of absolute sensual contentment such as he had never before
experienced.

"Shall it be coffee, or Rhine wine, or Tokay, or perhaps something
stronger" asked Raffles Haw, stretching out his hand to what looked like
a