in evening clothes, smiled at me genially, showing a gold-crowned tooth.

"Did not chance to hear your motor," he said easily, taking a cigarette
case from his vest pocket. "You are a little late; what was it, tire
trouble?"

"I came afoot," I answered, not overly-cordial. "It was farther across
town than I supposed."

"Well, you 're here, and that is the main point. Have a cigarette.
No?" as I shook my head. "All right, there are cigars in the room
yonder--the second door to your left."

I entered where he indicated. It was a spacious apartment, evidently a
library from the book-shelves along the walls, and the great writing
table in the center. The high ceiling, and restful wall decorations
were emphasized by all the furnishings, the soft rug, into which the
feet sank noiselessly, the numerous leather-upholstered chairs, the
luxurious couch, and the divan filling the bay-window. The only light
was under a shaded globe on the central table, leaving the main
apartment in shadows, but the windows had their heavy curtains closely
drawn. The sole occupant was a man in evening dress, seated in a
high-backed leather chair, facing the entrance, a small stand beside
him, containing a half-filled glass, and an open box of cigars. Smoke
circled above his head, his eyes upon me as I entered. With an
indolent wave of one hand he seemingly invited me to take a vacant
chair to the right, while Neale remained standing near the door.

This new position gave me a better view of his face, but I could not
guess his age. His was one of those old-young faces, deeply lined,