I nodded at Wolfe. "You get it? Spheres of economic influence. The same thing that bothered Al Capone and Dutch Schultz. Look where economic friction landed them."

Wolfe nodded back. "Thank you, Archie. Thank you very much for explaining it to me. Now if you-"

I hurried on. "Wait, it gets lots more interesting than that." I glanced down the page. "In the picture he looks like a ruler of men-you know, like a master barber or a head waiter, you know the type. It goes on to tell how much he knows about spheres and influences, and his record in the war- he commanded a brigade and he got decorated four times-a noble lord and all prettied up with decorations like a store front-1 say three cheers and let us drink to the King, gendemen! You understand, sir, I'm just summarizing."

"Yes* Archie. Thank you."

Wolfe sounded grim. I took a breath. "Don't mention it. But the really interesting part is where it tells about his character and his private life. He's a great gardener. He prunes his own roses! At least it says so, but it's almost too much to swallow. Then it goes on, new paragraph. While it would be an exaggeration to call the marquis an eccentric, in many ways he fails to conform to the conventional conception of a British peer, probably due in some measure to the tact that in his younger days-he is now sixty-four- he spent many years, in various activities, in Australia, South America, and the western part of the United States. He is a nephew of the ninth marquis, and succeeded to the tide in 1905, when his uncle and two cousins perished in the sinking of the Rotania off the African coast But under any circumstances he would be an extraordinary person, and his idiosyncrasies, as he is pleased to call them, are definitely his own.