Pharmacotherapeutics for Advanced Practice Nurse Prescribers 4th Edition Woo Test Bank

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Pharmacotherapeutics for Advanced Practice Nurse Prescribers 4th Edition Woo Test Bank

Chapter 2. Review of Basic Principles of Pharmacology

Multiple Choice
Identify the choice that best completes the statement or answers the question.

____ 1. A patient’s nutritional intake and laboratory results reflect hypoalbuminemia. This is critical to
prescribing because:
1. Distribution of drugs to target tissue may be affected.
2. The solubility of the drug will not match the site of absorption.
3. There will be less free drug available to generate an effect.
4. Drugs bound to albumin are readily excreted by the kidneys.

____ 2. Drugs that have a significant first-pass effect:

1. Must be given by the enteral (oral) route only
2. Bypass the hepatic circulation
3. Are rapidly metabolized by the liver and may have little if any desired action
4. Are converted by the liver to more active and fat-soluble forms

____ 3. The route of excretion of a volatile drug will likely be the:

1. Kidneys
2. Lungs
3. Bile and feces
4. Skin

____ 4. Medroxyprogesterone (Depo Provera) is prescribed intramuscularly (IM) to create a storage

reservoir of the drug. Storage reservoirs:
1. Assure that the drug will reach its intended target tissue
2. Are the reason for giving loading doses
3. Increase the length of time a drug is available and active
4. Are most common in collagen tissues

____ 5. The NP chooses to give cephalexin every 8 hours based on knowledge of the drug’s:
1. Propensity to go to the target receptor
2. Biological half-life
3. Pharmacodynamics
4. Safety and side effects

____ 6. Azithromycin dosing requires that the first day’s dosage be twice those of the other 4 days of the
prescription. This is considered a loading dose. A loading dose:
1. Rapidly achieves drug levels in the therapeutic range
2. Requires four- to five-half-lives to attain
3. Is influenced by renal function
4. Is directly related to the drug circulating to the target tissues

____ 7. The point in time on the drug concentration curve that indicates the first sign of a therapeutic effect
is the:
1. Minimum adverse effect level
2. Peak of action

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 3. Onset of action
4. Therapeutic range

____ 8. Phenytoin requires that a trough level be drawn. Peak and trough levels are done:
1. When the drug has a wide therapeutic range
2. When the drug will be administered for a short time only
3. When there is a high correlation between the dose and saturation of receptor sites
4. To determine if a drug is in the therapeutic range

____ 9. A laboratory result indicates that the peak level for a drug is above the minimum toxic concentration.
This means that the:
1. Concentration will produce therapeutic effects
2. Concentration will produce an adverse response
3. Time between doses must be shortened
4. Duration of action of the drug is too long

____ 10. Drugs that are receptor agonists may demonstrate what property?
1. Irreversible binding to the drug receptor site
2. Upregulation with chronic use
3. Desensitization or downregulation with continuous use
4. Inverse relationship between drug concentration and drug action

____ 11. Drugs that are receptor antagonists, such as beta blockers, may cause:
1. Downregulation of the drug receptor
2. An exaggerated response if abruptly discontinued
3. Partial blockade of the effects of agonist drugs
4. An exaggerated response to competitive drug agonists

____ 12. Factors that affect gastric drug absorption include:

1. Liver enzyme activity
2. Protein-binding properties of the drug molecule
3. Lipid solubility of the drug
4. Ability to chew and swallow

____ 13. Drugs administered via IV:

1. Need to be lipid soluble in order to be easily absorbed
2. Begin distribution into the body immediately
3. Are easily absorbed if they are nonionized
4. May use pinocytosis to be absorbed

____ 14. When a medication is added to a regimen for a synergistic effect, the combined effect of the drugs is:
1. The sum of the effects of each drug individually
2. Greater than the sum of the effects of each drug individually
3. Less than the effect of each drug individually
4. Not predictable, as it varies with each individual

____ 15. Which of the following statements about bioavailability is true?

1. Bioavailability issues are especially important for drugs with narrow therapeutic
ranges or sustained-release mechanisms.

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 2. All brands of a drug have the same bioavailability.
3. Drugs that are administered more than once a day have greater bioavailability than
drugs given once daily.
4. Combining an active drug with an inert substance does not affect bioavailability.

____ 16. Which of the following statements about the major distribution barriers (blood-brain or
fetal-placental) is true?
1. Water soluble and ionized drugs cross these barriers rapidly.
2. The blood-brain barrier slows the entry of many drugs into and from brain cells.
3. The fetal-placental barrier protects the fetus from drugs taken by the mother.
4. Lipid-soluble drugs do not pass these barriers and are safe for pregnant women.

____ 17. Drugs are metabolized mainly by the liver via phase I or phase II reactions. The purpose of both of
these types of reactions is to:
1. Inactivate prodrugs before they can be activated by target tissues
2. Change the drugs so they can cross plasma membranes
3. Change drug molecules to a form that an excretory organ can excrete
4. Make these drugs more ionized and polar to facilitate excretion

____ 18. Once they have been metabolized by the liver, the metabolites may be:
1. More active than the parent drug
2. Less active than the parent drug
3. Totally “deactivated” so they are excreted without any effect
4. All of the above

____ 19. All drugs continue to act in the body until they are changed or excreted. The ability of the body to
excrete drugs via the renal system would be increased by:
1. Reduced circulation and perfusion of the kidney
2. Chronic renal disease
3. Competition for a transport site by another drug
4. Unbinding a nonvolatile drug from plasma proteins

____ 20. Steady state is:

1. The point on the drug concentration curve when absorption exceeds excretion
2. When the amount of drug in the body remains constant
3. When the amount of drug in the body stays below the minimum toxic
concentration
4. All of the above

____ 21. Two different pain medications are given together for pain relief. The drug—drug interaction is:
1. Synergistic
2. Antagonistic
3. Potentiative
4. Additive

____ 22. Actions taken to reduce drug—drug interaction problems include all of the following EXCEPT:
1. Reducing the dosage of one of the drugs
2. Scheduling their administration at different times
3. Prescribing a third drug to counteract the adverse reaction of the combination

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The master
criminal
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The master criminal

Author: G. Sidney Paternoster

Illustrator: Charles Johnson Post

Release date: August 29, 2023 [eBook #71516]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: The Cupples & Leon Company, 1907

Credits: Charlene Taylor, Laura Natal, Bruce Albrecht (bgalbrecht)

and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images
made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE

MASTER CRIMINAL ***
THE MASTER CRIMINAL
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Gutter Tragedies
Children of Earth
The Folly of the Wise
The Motor Pirate
The Cruise of the Conquistador
The Lady of the Blue Motor
"Five or seven? It won't matter much, will it?"
 THE
MASTER CRIMINAL
BY

G. SIDNEY PATERNOSTER

Author of "The Cruise of the Conquistador,"

"The Lady of the Blue Motor,"
"The Motor Pirate," etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES JOHNSON POST

NEW YORK
THE CUPPLES & LEON CO.
PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY
G. SIDNEY PATERNOSTER

All Rights Reserved

 CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
"LET THEM GET WHO HAVE THE POWER,
I. 7
AND LET THEM KEEP WHO CAN"
CONCERNING THE GREUZE, SOME
II. 22
GENTILES AND A JEW
III. THE MAKING OF A CRIMINAL 33
IV. THE REFLECTIONS OF LYNTON HORA 42
THE COMMANDATORE MAKES A
V. 52
DEDUCTION
WHEREIN A KING'S MESSENGER IS
VI. 62
DESPOILED OF HIS DESPATCHES
VII. MERIEL MAKES AN IMPRESSION 76
A SUCCESSFUL SPECULATION AND ITS
VIII. 87
RESULTS
IX. CONCERNING A GREAT MAN'S VEXATION 97
A NEW VIEW OF THE FLURSCHEIM
X. 105
ROBBERY
XI. GUY FINDS A NEW HOME 116
XII. INSPECTOR KENLY'S LODGER 128
XIII. POISONED WORDS 137
XIV. THE SHADOW-MAN 146
XV. INSPECTOR KENLY FINDS A CLUE 157
XVI. GUY MAKES A RESOLUTION 168
 XVII. STAR-DUST 177
CORNELIUS JESSEL DREAMS OF A
XVIII. 190
FORTUNE
XIX. INSPECTOR KENLY REPORTS 201
XX. GUY'S LAST THEFT 213
XXI. EXPECTATION 224
XXII. TEMPTATION 235
XXIII. A FRIEND IN ADVERSITY 248
INSPECTOR KENLY CONTEMPLATES
XXIV. 258
ACTION
XXV. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 269
XXVI. CAPTAIN MARVEN'S SURPRISE PACKET 280
XXVII. DUTY CALLS 289
XXVIII. THE FRUITS OF A CRIMINAL PHILOSOPHY 300
L'ENVOI 312
THE MASTER CRIMINAL
 CHAPTER I
"LET THEM GET WHO HAVE THE POWER, AND
LET THEM KEEP WHO CAN"

The night was of velvety blackness—one of those soft, warm,

dark nights of June when the southwest wind rolls a cloud-curtain
over the stars, when the air is heavy with unshed rain, when lamps
burn dully, and when a nameless oppression broods over the face of
the land.
Seated at an open casement looking out into the London night
was a woman. Her hands grasped each other over her knee with a
tense grip which gave the lie to the calm of her face. Hers was a face
to which in repose Rossetti would have woven an adoring sonnet,
though not as to another "lazy, laughing, languid Jenny, fond of a
kiss, and fond of a guinea," but a sonnet of purity and peace. Yet if
the sonnet had been written, and the woman had read, the full
scarlet lips which seemed to have gathered into them all the colour
from her face, would have parted in scornful laughter.
Her eyes, a part of the night into which they gazed, had dull
shadows beneath them, painted there by weariness, yet she still sat
motionless in a strained attitude of expectation.
Her sole companion, seated a few yards away in an easy chair,
looked up at her occasionally from a book which he held in his hand
and smiled.
Lynton Hora, the Commandatore, as he chose to be called by
the members of his household, was in quite another way an equally
interesting type of humanity. He was a man of seventy inches, broad
shouldered and lean flanked, with well-poised head. His hair was
grey at the sides, his face was clean-shaven. Seen lounging in the
easy chair, with his face in the shadow, he appeared to be a man of
not more than forty—an old-young student, perhaps, for there were
thought lines on his brow and his cheeks were almost as pallid as
those of the woman at the window. Such an impression would,
however, have been speedily put to flight, immediately he looked up.
Then there could be no mistaking the man of action. The keen, hard,
grey eyes, the domineering nose, the firmly cut lips, labelled him
definitely—conclusively.
Presently the woman altered her position. The in-drawing of her
breath, as she turned from the window, might have been a sigh. She
looked around at her companion.
He seemed conscious of the movement, as, without lifting his
eyes, he asked lazily: "Tired, Myra?"
She strove to reproduce the quietude of his tone as she replied:
"A little. What's the time now, Commandatore?" but there was a
tremor in her voice, which showed clearly that she was not so
indifferent as she wished to appear.
The man tossed down his book.
"Listen," he said.
Almost as if in answer to his summons the voice of Big Ben
floated softly in through the window—one—two.
"He ought to be back by now," she said, and rising, she began
to rearrange the roses in a bowl on a table near.
"I don't expect Guy for another hour at least," said the man
carelessly, though he watched the woman keenly as he spoke. "After
that—well, if we don't see him in an hour, we shall probably not see
him for five years, at least."
The woman winced as from a blow.
"Five, or seven? It won't matter much, will it?" she replied
quietly. Then in a moment her self-control dropped from her. Her
lethargy vanished. A light came into her eyes, her nostrils became
vibrant. Without alteration of pitch her voice became passionate. "It
is horrible—brutal of you—to send him on such a business. What
can possess you to do such a thing—can you not spare even——"
 "Hush!" The man's voice interrupted her. He spoke with silken
suavity. "How often have I told you that the reiteration of facts known
to both parties to a conversation is the hall-mark of the unintelligent!"
"By Jove, Myra," he continued, changing the subject, "how really
beautiful you are! What a lucky dog Guy is to rouse such an
interest!"
The woman dropped her eyes and the man continued
meditatively, "What a vast alteration has taken place in the ideal of
feminine beauty since the fifteenth century! Do you know, Myra,
while you have been sitting so patiently at the window I have been
measuring you by the canons of beauty laid down by that sleek old
churchman, Master Agnolo Firenzuola"—he tapped the black letter
volume which lay beside him—"and though he, I'm afraid, would
have many faults to find with your features——"
The levity of his tone roused her again to passionate utterance.
"No more," she cried. "Have you no heart left in you,
Commandatore, that you can send your own son to such danger and
sit there calmly reading while——" She broke off abruptly, her voice
choked with a sob.
Lynton Hora rose from his seat and viewed the woman, who
shrank from his steady gaze.
"Have matters gone so far as that?" he asked, and his lips
smiled cynically.
She made no reply.
"You never asked my permission," he continued dispassionately.
"Guy has said nothing. I am afraid, Myra, I shall have to see that he
is protected from your influence."
She looked at him appealingly, and her eyes were as the night,
heavy with unshed rain.
"He—is—your—son," she said slowly. "I—I cannot do him the
harm that you can do him, and yet—I am afraid for him. Perhaps you
had better send me away, Commandatore. My fears may make a
coward of him."
 The man spoke as if musing aloud. "Where shall I send you?
Back to the gutter from whence I picked you? Do you remember
anything of your home, Myra?"
"I know. I know," she protested. "You have reminded me often
enough."
He paid no heed to her appeal.
"Yesterday," he said, "I visited the place. No, it has not tumbled
down yet, my dear—the very house where your mother sold you to
me for half-a-crown and a bottle of gin, a dirty child of five. That was
fifteen years ago—fifteen years ago to-day. You were unwanted,
uncared for—I wanted you, I cared for you. Let me tell you how I
found your mother, Myra?"
She lifted her hands with a gesture of appeal, but he
disregarded the action.
"She occupies the same old room. There's but little light finds its
way through the dirty window, though enough to show that your
mother has not changed her habits—nor her rags. She sat there
alone, like a dropsical spider and cried aloud for gin. Would you like
to change this"—his hand directed attention to the apartment—"for a
share of your mother's abode, Myra Norton?"
Myra had seated herself. She made no answer for a while. Her
eyes wandered about the long apartment, with its shaded lights and
its flowers and its luxurious furniture. Her hand dropped on the silken
gauze of her dress. The man watching smiled as he saw the flash of
the diamonds on her fingers and noted the caressing motion of her
fingers upon the shimmering fabric. At last she raised her eyes to her
questioner.
"You could not send me back," she said.
"I could send you to a worse place," he replied coldly. "You know
my power."
She shuddered.
His tone changed completely.
 "You little fool," he said roughly, but with a kindliness his speech
had lacked hitherto. "You know very well that I could never let you go
back to the stews from which I rescued you. But I wanted to remind
you, Myra, that you belong to me—that, like myself, you are pledged
to war—a merciless, devouring, devastating war with Society; that
you, even as I myself, are outcast—one from whom the world would
shrink—you have been in danger of forgetting lately, Myra."
"I have not forgotten," she answered with comparative
quietness, "but I have been thinking of what is the use of it all, this
eternal warfare against the world. You have won again and again.
You have told me that you are the richer by what the world has lost.
You lack nothing that money may buy. There must come a time when
the warrior must rest."
"Not while his arm retains its strength to lift his sword," replied
Hora, "and by that time he should have provided someone to take
his place."
"But if that person is unequal to the task?" Myra queried timidly.
"He pays the penalty," answered Hora.
"Even if it is your own son?" she persisted.
"Or your lover," he added coldly.
"Your heart is iron," she murmured despairingly.
He laughed aloud. "Or non-existent," he said. "It was stolen from
me years ago, and I have forgotten what it was like to be possessed
of one. Now I have only my profession—and in that I am first. You
admit that, Myra?"
"I admit that," she replied sullenly.
"Why should I not train my successor to take my place when my
day comes?"
The woman in the listener cried out instinctively "Because he
has what you lack—a heart."
He smiled grimly. "It is easily lost, Myra. What if I should say to
you some day: Take it from him, toss it away, trample on it, break it,
or store it away and treasure it with your trinkets—do as you like with
it?"
"You would——" She rose from her seat and faced him with
extended arms. Her lips were slightly parted. The shadows had
flitted away from her eyes. Her bosom rose stormily from its gauze
veilings. Her lithe form was poised expectantly.
"By Jove, you are beautiful, Myra," he answered.
"I am glad of it—glad," she cried exultantly.
Hora stood in a thoughtful attitude.
"Myra—Myrrha," he half-mused, turning the name about, "a
good name for a love-potion, there's a foreshadowing of the
bitterness of love in it."
Her brow clouded and she turned away. "You are always
mocking me," she muttered.
"No," he said, and he stepped across the room to her side.
There was something strange about his walk. He passed across the
room with the swift, stealthy swing of a panther—a wounded panther,
for one foot dragged after the other and robbed his progress of
complete grace. He came to her side and laid his hand on her arm.
"I am not mocking, Myra," he said seriously. "I have long wanted
to know exactly where Guy was placed in your thoughts. You have
never revealed yourself until to-night. Even now I am not quite sure
——"
Myra's countenance cleared and a happy smile shone on her
face. She looked up at him expectantly.
"You can tell me how much you care for him," he continued. "I
shall not reveal your confidence to Guy."
She dropped her eyes.
"I cannot tell anyone," she whispered with a strange shyness.
Hora smiled whimsically. "What liars love makes of us all," he
said. "Yet perhaps you are speaking truthfully. You cannot tell me
what you do not know."
"I could die—die happily—for him," she murmured softly.
"Fools sometimes die for utter strangers," remarked Hora
sardonically. "That's not love. Could you live for him, could you give
yourself to another for his welfare, could you——"
"Not that, no, not that!" The cry was wrung from her lips. "You
would not condemn me to that, Commandatore?"
"Hush, Myra," he said. "I was merely speaking of possibilities
which might arise in the future."
"I thought," she faltered, "that some scheme had crossed your
brain, which would necessitate—I could not do it now."
"I have thought of no scheme," he replied reassuringly, "which
would wither this new flower which has blossomed in your heart."
"You are mocking again," she remarked.
"I am speaking seriously," he retorted, "of possibilities which
might occur. Guy's mate must be prepared for anything—for
everything. You must remember that I am not to be turned aside from
the object I have in view. Nor is Guy to be turned aside either. His
will is as inflexible as mine. The woman who mates with him must be
at one with him in his purpose, and, if need be, must be ready to
sacrifice herself. Tell me now, Myra, if you can do that, or must I find
a mate for him who will?"
She did not hesitate a moment. The blood rushed to her face.
"For Guy I would do anything," she cried. "All that I ask is to be near
him to help him to——"
"To weaken him with your woman fears," Hora interpolated.
"No," she cried. "He would never know that I feared for his
safety. Let me try, Commandatore. Give a fair chance—only that!"
He meditated a while, then he tapped Myra's arm with his finger.
"You shall have your chance," he said. "But remember it is your
business to keep him to his profession. He has no time for
lovemaking. You shall have your chance, but be sure you use it
wisely. If you do, the day may come when I shall say to Guy, there is
your wife—and the wife will be the child I have picked from the gutter
and educated and treated as my own."
There was a brooding menace in the tone in which he finished,
and the woman feared to waken him to speech again. At last, he
said harshly:
"Have you no thanks, Myra?"
"You frighten me sometimes, Commandatore," she answered
timidly. "I cannot understand you."
"You will do so some day," he replied. He seemed amused at
the idea, for he laughed and spoke good-humouredly. "If you make
good use of your chances, my girl, everything will become clear to
you. You have wit as well as beauty, Myra. Make use of them both.
He is of an age to be caught."
Through the open window the voice of Big Ben solemnly tolled
three.
The light died out of the woman's face. "Cruel," she murmured in
a tense, hoarse whisper. "It was cruel to mock me so. Something
has happened to him. The hour has passed. Oh! Guy, Guy!"
Lynton Hora turned upon her fiercely. "Is this a specimen of your
self-control?" he said. "Haven't you learned that in the profession
Guy has adopted a thousand trivial events may supply reason for
delay? Mind, if I have any snivelling I withdraw my promise."
Myra was constrained into silence. She went to the window.
Already the black night had given place to the grey mists of coming
dawn. She looked out over the park. Uprising from the sea of
shadows objects began to emerge. From the near distance the
music of violins and harps throbbed to a waltz measure. She stood
there unheeding while the light strengthened, and the dawn came up
from the east in a glory of crimson and gold. She stood there
unseeing, her heart throbbing with agony, yet with face schooled to
complete apathy.
 The rose and the gold faded from the sky. Another day had
begun. She had forgotten Hora's presence, forgotten everything.
She closed the window and lifted her hand to pull down the blinds
and shut out the day. Hora's voice awakened her.
"Listen," he said, and, rising swiftly from his chair, he pushed
Myra aside and threw open the casement again. The sharp sound of
the bell of an electric brougham entered that window on the eighth
storey just as the voice of Big Ben proclaimed four.
"Only somebody's brougham," said Myra listlessly.
"My brougham," replied Hora curtly. "Bringing Guy home."
She shrugged her shoulders. "Coming back without him, most
likely," she said. Still, in spite of the remark, hope showed itself in her
expression. The carriage stopped. For five minutes a strained
silence endured. It was broken by the sound of an outside door
opening and shutting. Another pause! Both were looking towards the
door of the apartment in which Myra and Hora stood expectantly.
Hora held up his finger warningly to his companion.
The door opened and there entered a young man in evening
clothes, his coat was over his arm, upon which an umbrella was
hooked, and his hat was in his hand.
"Hullo! I didn't expect anyone to be waiting up for me," he
remarked cheerfully. "I thought that was a privilege reserved for the
reprobate sons of evangelical households. I suppose you haven't
been praying for the success of my undertaking."
He laughed joyously. His high spirits seemed infectious. Hora
smiled responsively. Joy illuminated Myra's expressive features like
sunlight on the woodlands after an April shower.
"You surely did not think that I should fail?" he asked, looking
from one to another.
"I did not," replied Hora drily. "Myra scarcely shared my
confidence though. She seemed to think that it was brutal of me to
give you a chance of showing what you could do, when working on
your own account."
 The young man laughed again.
"These women—these women," he said. Then he turned to
Myra. "I thought that you, at least, would have had confidence in
me." He tossed his coat on to a chair, and going to her, encircled her
waist with his arm. "Did you really think I should fail in my first coup?"
he asked.
"No—no—no," she cried vehemently. "But, oh, Guy! I was
afraid. If I could only have come with you—to have shared in the
danger."
"Then I probably should have failed," he added. "As it is——"
He turned to Hora and there was a proud gleam in his eyes.
"You must set me a more difficult task next time, Commandatore," he
said.
"Then you have secured the picture?" asked the elder man
eagerly.
For reply, Guy lifted the umbrella from the table where he had
laid it down. To all appearance it was merely a specimen of the
article it pretended to be, but in the young man's hands the handle
unscrewed, revealing the fact that it was a sham. Instead of an
umbrella, a long narrow case was revealed, and from within it Guy
coaxed with infinite care a roll of canvas.
"It was rather a tight fit," he remarked, "but I don't think I have
damaged the picture." He unrolled the canvas carefully on the table.
Hora's eyes sparkled as he looked down upon the painting.
"How I have longed for a genuine Greuze to add to my
collection," he remarked, "and this—this is the most perfect
specimen in the world. My dear Guy, how can I ever be grateful
enough to you?"
Was there a dash of sarcasm in his voice? If so, the young man
did not notice it. He was moved to genuine emotion.
"It is a little thing in return for all you have done for me," he
replied earnestly. He laid his hand on the elder man's arm as he
continued, "There's nothing I would not do which would add to your
happiness—you have given me so much."
Hora shook off the grasp.
"The air is overcharged with sentiment," he said lightly. "Myra
here might have been trained in an English boarding school for
young ladies, she is so full of it. And now you." He held up his hands
in derision.
Guy laughed gaily. He was used to Hora's moods.
"Sentiment does sound a little incongruous from the lips of a
successful burglar, doesn't it?" he said, and he laughed again at the
whimsicality of the idea. "Yet you know that at heart, Commandatore,
you are just as much of a sentimentalist as either Myra or myself.
What else can be the motive of your perpetual enmity with the
world?"
"What else; ay, what else," murmured Hora musingly, a bitter
smile about his lips. "But, all the same, there's no need to debauch
our minds with contemplation of sentiment. It's dangerous."
He returned to an examination of the picture.
"The fool who owned this," he said, "would have sold it. He's no
poorer for the loss. It is not the loss of the work of art that he will
regret, but the loss of the ten thousand guineas he gave for it."
"It is in really appreciative hands now," remarked Guy after a
pause. "By the way," he added, picking up his overcoat from the
chair, "I could not resist the temptation of bringing away a few of the
best examples of Flurscheim's snuff-boxes. I know you have a
vacant corner or two in the cabinets upstairs, and if you think they
are not worthy of being placed in them, well the brilliants in the
settings will make a necklace for Myra."
He thrust his hand into the pockets and took out a number of
superb specimens of the art of a bygone age.
"It was very thoughtful of you," said Hora, as he lifted each box
lovingly as Guy laid it on the table. There were twelve in all, and
eight he placed on one side. "These are really artistic productions,"
he said, "and I shall keep them. The others are worth no more than
the intrinsic value of the stones and of the gold of which they are
made."
Guy turned to Myra. "What will you have them made into, Myra,
a necklet or a bracelet?—I must give you a keepsake to wear in
memory of my first big exploit."
"Anything you like, Guy," she answered softly, while her face
flushed with delight.
"Then we will think of something," he observed carelessly. He
picked up one of the boxes which Hora had placed aside. "I think I
should like to keep this one myself, Commandatore," he remarked,
"as a souvenir of the occasion."
Hora took it from his hand and looked at the box curiously. In the
lid was set an exquisite miniature on ivory of a young girl, with
regular, delicate features and a cloud of golden hair.
"You have good taste, keep it, by all means," urged Hora
carelessly. A slight hesitation in Guy's tone as he proffered the
request was evidence to his swift brain that the young man had not
revealed the whole of his reason for the desire to retain that
particular box. He knew that he could when he liked elicit that
reason. But the morning was advancing. He began to feel wearied.
He would have plenty of time on the morrow to learn all that he
desired to know.
"Come, my children," he said, "it is time we went to bed. Guy,
you will help me put these new possessions of ours into a place of
security. Sleep well, Myra."
The woman accepted the dismissal submissively. She re-
echoed the wish, and, with a last glance over her shoulder at Guy as
she swept out of the room, she left them.
"Myra's getting very fond of you, Guy," remarked Hora when the
door had closed behind her.
"Indeed," he answered carelessly, for his mind was running on
other matters.
 Hora laughed at the tone, but he did not renew the subject.
"What made you so late?" he asked.
"Some jolly people I met at the ball," he answered absently. "I
stopped an hour longer than I intended."
"H—m, business before pleasure is as good a motto for your
profession as for any other," said Hora.
"I know," answered Guy, "but still——"
"You are young," commented Hora, "I hope that in your haste
you left no clue."
The young man laughed. "Plenty," he said, "but all false ones."
"Well, you shall tell me all about it in the morning," said Hora.
"Bring the stuff along."
Guy gathered up the sham umbrella and the jewelled snuff-
boxes, slipping the one he had decided to retain for himself into his
pocket.
Hora raised the picture reverently and led the way out of the
room, Guy following him.
 CHAPTER II
CONCERNING THE GREUZE, SOME GENTILES,
AND A JEW

Later on that same morning all London was thrilled by the story
of a sensational burglary at the house of Mr. Hildebrand Flurscheim,
the noted connoisseur and dealer in objects of art.
Just at daybreak Mr. Flurscheim had been aroused by the
ringing of the burglar alarm, and, throwing on his dressing-gown, he
had rushed downstairs. There he had found the front door open,
and, running into the street, he commenced to blow frantically the
police whistle which he had in his hand—he always slept with a
police whistle attached to a ribbon round his neck and with a revolver
under his pillow.
He had not been compelled to waste much breath before the
summons was responded to, for a constable was almost instantly on
the spot.
Mr. Hildebrand Flurscheim dwelt in a quarter of London greatly
favoured by rank, fashion, and the children of Abraham. His house
was at the corner of a street turning into Park Lane, and at the shrill
sound of the whistle there emerged from turning after turning
helmeted men in blue who with one accord made their way at paces
varying with each man's temperament to the place where the excited
art dealer stood beckoning vigorously.
Mr. Flurscheim had speedily revealed his reason for giving the
alarm. The house was surrounded by constables, and two of the
force accompanied the owner back into his house, which they
proceeded to search systematically. At this time, Mr. Flurscheim had
not discovered his loss and was disposed to think that the electric
alarm had frustrated an attempt of someone to enter his abode. But
when he arrived, in the course of the search, at his drawing-room on
the first floor, he learned that the thief had been only too successful
in the object which had brought him thither. From the place on the
wall where the gem of his collection, the Greuze, which he had
sworn should never leave his possession until £20,000 should have
been paid into his banking account, had hung, only an empty frame
confronted him, while tossed carelessly aside on the table was an
ordinary table knife which had been used for the purpose of cutting
the canvas from the frame.
Upon the discovery of his loss, Mr. Flurscheim had for a while
been bereft of speech and movement. When volition returned to him,
he behaved as one demented. He wrung his hands, he tore his hair
and his clothes, and he called upon the God of Abraham and Isaac
and Jacob to visit his despoiler with condign punishment.
When a little later he discovered that some more of his choicest
treasures, the jewelled snuff-boxes of which he had the finest
collection in the world, had been carried away, he became absolutely
frantic with grief, so that even the policemen felt moved in their
hearts to pity him.
The frenzy did not endure long. A thing trifling in itself was
sufficient to restore the dealer to full possession of his senses. The
sergeant of police who had accompanied him into the room had
pulled out his note book in readiness to make notes of the
occurrence, when a clock on the mantel-shelf struck four. At the
sound, Flurscheim became still.
"Four o'clock," he murmured. "Four o'clock. There's no time to
lose. We must be doing." He turned to the policeman. "Sergeant," he
said dejectedly, "I shall trust you to forget the exhibition I have made
of myself—I——"
The sergeant answered briskly. "Very natural, I'm sure, sir.
Should have felt just like it myself, though I must admit I've put the
bracelets on many a man who hasn't said half as much as you have
done—of course, in the public streets, sir."
 There was a sickly smile on Flurscheim's face as he answered:
"I hope none of them had such good reason for cursing as I have."
He did not pursue the topic. With an effort he forced his mind
from contemplation of the loss. "Hadn't we better leave things in this
room untouched, while we search the rest of the house? There may
be some one of the burglars, if there was more than one, still on the
premises."
The sergeant agreed. But the search was a fruitless one. Mr.
Flurscheim's butler and his four women servants were the only other
persons found on the premises, and after their unsuccessful search
the uniformed members of the force withdrew and the dealer sat
down to await the arrival of the detective with what patience he could
summon to his aid.
It was the bitterest moment in Flurscheim's career. Despite
Lynton Hora's sneer, it was not the monetary value of his loss which
troubled him, for though he dealt in pictures and other art objects, yet
he never parted with any of his treasures without a poignant feeling
of regret. When he sold them, however, he knew that they would
pass into appreciative hands, that they would be guarded carefully
and preserved jealously. To him they were what horses are to one
man or dogs to another. They were his companions, his friends, his
children—and to have the chief of them ruthlessly cut from its frame
and carried away, he knew not where, was as if his household had
been robbed of an only child.
He gazed forlornly at the empty frame. Since the Greuze had
come into his possession, never a night had passed without his
taking a last glance at it before going upstairs to bed, never a
morning dawned but he had feasted his eyes upon it before sitting
down to his breakfast. To live alone without the Greuze seemed to
him an unthinkable existence.
Yet the frame was empty. There took root in his heart a desire
for revenge upon the man who had robbed him.
That thought matured in the days which followed—the days
which came swiftly and passed swiftly, but without bringing him any
trace of his treasure, days in which the detectives continually buoyed
him up with hopes that his picture was on the ace of being restored
to him.
They had indeed thought that the task would not have proved a
difficult one. Their inspection of the room from which the picture had
been stolen had led to the discovery of a number of clues to work
upon. They decided that an entry must have been effected through a
window which opened upon the portico over the front door. At that
window were a number of scarlet berried shrubs, and some of the
berries were found crushed on the carpet inside. On the balcony
they discovered a palette knife, with smears of cobalt and chrome
upon it, which obviously had been used to force back the catch of
the window. For days afterwards, detectives might have been
observed knocking at the doors of London studios and offering
themselves as models to aspiring Academicians, in the hope of
ascertaining the whereabouts of the missing picture. But they found
no trace of the Greuze.
On the knife-handle too, were unmistakable finger-prints, and on
the empty frame were others. All were photographed, and hope was
strong that the identity of the thief would be disclosed thereby,
through comparison with the records of convicts at Scotland Yard.
But when the first comparison seemed to point to the fact that every
print was that of a different person, and closer investigation proved
that the dirty smudges were not finger-prints at all, the problem
became indubitably more complex. As for the knife which had been
used to cut the canvas from the frame, that was an ordinary table-
knife, of which counterparts might have been discovered in every
mean house in the metropolis, and it supplied no basis for any theory
as to the owner. The one fact which chiefly puzzled Scotland Yard,
however, was the fact that no suspicious characters had been
observed anywhere in the neighbourhood, while the position of the
house was such that it was particularly open to observation.
Standing at the corner of two streets, in a neighbourhood where
all the houses would be described in a house agent's catalogue as
"highly desirable family town residences," it was under observation
from at least three quarters. The streets at three or four o'clock were
at that time practically empty of all pedestrians save the police. Yet
not a member of the police on duty in the vicinity had seen a
suspicious looking character.
This was the more astonishing, because two extra constables
were on duty that night in the near neighbourhood. They had been
detailed for duty at the town mansion of one of the most popular of
society hostesses, Lady Greyston, who was giving the first of her
dances for the season. Lady Greyston's house was only six removed
from Mr. Flurscheim's, and until three o'clock one of the constables
had been stationed at the corner of the street, practically at Mr.
Flurscheim's front door, in order to direct the carriages arriving to
pick up departing guests. The stream of carriages had thinned
shortly after three, and then the constable had joined a colleague at
the door, but at no time during the night had anything out of the way
attracted his attention. The police were quite at a loss for an object of
suspicion.
But while Scotland Yard was hopelessly at a loss for a clue, the
newspapers had been busy printing stories of the crime, which did
great credit to the fertility of the imagination of the reporters who
were detailed to work up the case. Those who read these stories
might have had warrant almost for believing that each writer must
have been the principal, so intimately and minutely was the crime
reconstructed.
But throughout the public excitement and conjecture which the
burglary created, Lynton Hora and Guy remained entirely
undisturbed, or, at the most, merely stirred to mild amusement as
each new theory was evolved—each was so very wide of the mark.
Yet audacious as many of these theories were, none of them
paralleled the audacity of the real attempt.
How the burglary had been carried out was explained by Guy
when, refreshed by six hours' sleep and a cold bath, he joined Myra
and Hora at the breakfast table.
"I followed your plans almost exactly," he said to the elder man,
"and I found the interior of the house precisely as you described it."