information they desired. He was an intelligent head-waiter,
young, and of pleasant, not to say distinguished, bearing. In
a frock coat he might easily have been mistaken for something
even more important than a head-waiter--for a German riding-
master, a leader of a Hungarian band, a manager of a Ritz
hotel. But he was not above his station. He even assisted the
porter in carrying the coats and golf bags of the gentlemen
from the car to the coffee-room where, with the intuition of
the homing pigeon, the three strangers had, unaided, found
their way. As Carl Schultz followed, carrying the dust-coats,
a road map fell from the pocket of one of them to the floor.
Carl Schultz picked it up, and was about to replace it, when
his eyes were held by notes scrawled roughly in pencil. With
an expression that no longer was that of a head-waiter, Carl
cast one swift glance about him and then slipped into the
empty coat-room and locked the door. Five minutes later, with
a smile that played uneasily over a face grown gray with
anxiety, Carl presented the map to the tallest of the three
strangers. It was open so that the pencil marks were most
obvious. By his accent it was evident the tallest of the
three strangers was an American.

"What the devil!" he protested; "which of you boys has been
playing hob with my map?"

For just an instant the two pink-cheeked ones regarded him
with disfavor; until, for just an instant, his eyebrows rose
and, with a glance, he signified the waiter.

"Oh, that!" exclaimed the younger one. "The Automobile Club