"Not at all, old chap! So long! Back in a little while."

Through the bathroom that connected their two rooms at the Allsordia
Hotel, Dave Darrin stepped into his own apartment.

Having donned coat and top-coat, Darrin picked up his new derby
hat and stepped to his room door. In another half minute he was
going down on the elevator. Then he stepped into the street.

Dave Darrin was young, healthy, happy, reasonably good-looking.
His top-coat and gray suit were well tailored. Yet, save for
his erect, military carriage, there was nothing to distinguish
him from the thousands of average well-dressed young men who thronged
Broadway after dark on this evening in late March.

For perhaps fifteen blocks he strolled uptown. All that he saw
on that gaily lighted main thoroughfare of New York was interesting.
It was the same old evening crowd, on pleasure bent.

Then, crossing over to the east side of Broadway, Dave sauntered
slowly back.

Laughing girls eyed the young naval officer as he passed. Drivers
of taxicabs looked the young man over speculatively, as though
wondering whether he might be inveigled into going on a, to them,
profitable round of New York's night sights. Human harpies, in
the form of "confidence men"---swindlers on the lookout for
prey---glanced but once at the young naval ensign, then looked away.
Dave Darrin's erect carriage, his clear steady eyes, his broad
shoulders and evident physical mastery of himself made these