"You have dated this cheque 1928."
"Ah," cried the other, "always so absent. I had in mind the price, m'sieur. Believe me, I shall lose on this deal, but no matter. Give it back to me; I will write out another."
The second cheque made out, correctly, Lepardo shuffled to the door, refusing de Guise's offer of refreshments. He was about to pass out on to the landing when:
"Heavens! I am truly an absent fool. I wear my writing glasses and have left my street glasses on your table. One moment. No, I would not trouble you."
He shuffled quickly back to the study, to return almost immediately, glasses in hand.
"Will seven-thirty in the morning be too early for my men to commence an inventory?"
"Not at all."
"Good night, m'sieur le Comte."
"Good night, M. Levi."
So concluded an act in this strange comedy.