to let an agent attend to his Dry Valley affairs hereafter. He
dictated some letters, closed his desk, and went down the street toward
the City Club. At a florist's he stopped and ordered a box of American
Beauties to be sent to Miss Phyllis Harriman. With these he enclosed
his card, a line of greeting scrawled on it.

A poker game was on at the club and Cunningham sat in. He interrupted
it to dine, holding his seat by leaving a pile of chips at the place.
When he cashed in his winnings and went downstairs it was still early.
As a card-player he was not popular. He was too keen on the main
chance and he nearly always won. In spite of his loud and frequent
laugh, of the effect of bluff geniality, there was no genuine humor in
the man, none of the milk of human kindness.

A lawyer in the reading-room rose at sight of Cunningham. "Want to see
you a minute," he said.

"Let's go into the Red Room."

He led the way to a small room furnished with a desk, writing supplies,
and a telephone. It was for the use of members who wanted to be
private. The lawyer shut the door.

"Afraid I've bad news for you, Cunningham," he said.

The other man's steady eyes did not waver. He waited silently.

"I was at Golden to-day on business connected with a divorce case. By
chance I ran across a record that astonished me. It may be only a
coincidence of names, but--"