He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. Selfishness. He was fast rising to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. Who is it?” “Your brother Mike!” Michelle chirruped, sounding uncannily like her mother Diane. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room.
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