The Chateau was a quasi-roadhouse of some architectural dignity,
widely advertised as being under the same management as one of the
smart Broadway cafes, and supplying the same food and drink, at
twice the Broadway price. Its service was unsurpassed by any city
restaurant, and, being within an hour's run by motor, it received
a liberal patronage. Tips were large at the Chateau; its
hospitality was famous among those who could afford the
extravagance of midnight entertainment; and yet it was a quiet
place. No echo of what occurred within its walls ever reached the
outside world. Sea-food, waffles, privacy, and discretion were its
recognized specialties, and people came for miles--mainly in
pairs--to enjoy them.

As the pedestrians neared the avenue of maples leading up to the
house they espied in the road ahead of them first the dull red
glow of a tail-light, then a dusty license plate.

"There's luck," Merkle ejaculated. "I'll rent this car."

In the gloom several figures were standing, facing in the
direction of the Chateau, and when Merkle spoke they wheeled as if
startled.

"No, you can't hire this machine. What do you think this is, a
cab-stand?" answered a gruff voice.

"Jim!" cried Lorelei, and ran forward.

Her breathless amazement at the meeting was no greater than her
brother's. "Sis! What the devil are you doing here?" he managed to