The man sat down in his chair, with his back to the stained-glass window. He asked, pleasantly:
“What do you say now, Mr. Merriwether?”
“I say,” the little czar answered, with a frown of impatience, or anger, or both, “that when you are tired of playing the damned fool I'd like to return to my business.”
The man rose to his feet quickly, his face pale with anger. He took a step toward the financier, his fists clenched—and then suddenly controlled himself.
“You jackass!” he said. “You idiot! Have you no brains whatever? Must I lash common sense into you? Take 'em off!” It was a command to the footmen.
“Will you disrobe, sir?” very politely asked the oldest of them.
Mr. Merriwether, six inches shorter than the speaker, and a hundred pounds lighter, drew back his fist, but the four men seized him and began to take his clothes off. Mr. Merriwether, recognizing the uselessness of resistance and the folly of having garments torn so far from home, helped by unbuttoning here and there. Presently he stood in puris naturctlibus.
His face was pale and his jaw set tight.
“Tie him!” commanded the master.
They tied him to the library table, face down.