fumbled in his pocket and drew forth the business card of Westrel Keen,
Tracer of Lost Persons.

"That," he said, "will be about all." And he bestowed the card upon
Harren with magnificent condescension.

And about five o'clock the following afternoon Harren found the card
among various effects of his, scattered over his dresser.

It took him several days to make up his mind to pay any attention to the
card or the suggestion it contained. He scarcely considered it seriously
even when, passing along Fifth Avenue one sunny afternoon, he chanced to
glance up and see the sign

KEEN & CO.
TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS

staring him in the face.

He continued his stroll, but that evening, upon mere impulse, he sat
down and wrote a letter to Mr. Keen.

The next morning's mail brought a reply and an appointment for an
interview on Wednesday week. Harren tossed the letter aside, satisfied
to let the matter go, because his leave expired on Tuesday, and the
appointment was impossible.

On Sunday, however, the melancholy of the deserted club affected his
spirits. A curious desire to see this Tracer of Lost Persons seized him
with a persistence unaccountable. He slept poorly, haunted with visions.