better set the sleuths on the trail of Arkwright.
Six to one you'll find I called him `Mary Jane'
to his face!''

Calderwell was thinking of that letter now, as
he sat at a small table in a Paris caf. Opposite
him was the six feet of muscular manhood, broad
shoulders, pointed brown beard, and all--and he
had just addressed it, inadvertently, as ``Mary
Jane.''

During the brief, sickening moment of silence
after the name had left his lips, Calderwell was
conscious of a whimsical realization of the lights,
music, and laughter all about him.

``Well, I chose as safe a place as I could!'' he
was thinking. Then Arkwright spoke.

``How long since you've been in correspondence
with members of my family?''

``Eh?''

Arkwright laughed grimly.

``Perhaps you thought of it yourself, then--
I'll admit you're capable of it,'' he nodded, reaching
for a cigar. ``But it so happens you hit upon
my family's favorite name for me.''