Coulson nodded.

"A young lady," he said,--"Miss Penelope Morse, she called
herself."

Mr. Richard Vanderpole stood quite still for a moment.

"Ah!" he said softly. "She might have been interested."

"Does the chief want me at all?" Coulson asked.

"No!" Vanderpole answered. "Go about your business as usual.
Leave here for Paris, say, in ten days. There will probably be a
letter for you at the Grand Hotel by that time."

They walked together toward the main exit. The young man's face
had lost some of its grimness. Once more his features wore that
look of pleasant and genial good-fellowship which seems
characteristic of his race after business hours.

"Say, Mr. Coulson," he declared, as they passed across the hall,
"you and I must have a night together. This isn't New York, by
any manner of means, or Paris, but there's some fun to be had
here, in a quiet way. I'll phone you tomorrow or the day after."

"Sure!" Mr. Coulson declared. "I'd like it above all things."

"I must find a taxicab," the young man remarked. "I've a busy
hour before me. I've got to go down and see the chief, who is
dining somewhere in Kensington, and get back again to dine here