been left to him. His one ambition was to collect all the literature in
all languages on the game of chess; a game by the way which he himself did
not play. "Mr. Wing had gone out to lunch about an hour before," said the
boy in buttons. "Would Mr. West wait?" Harvey, who knew Mr. Wing's
luncheons of old, said no, but he would call again in the afternoon. As he
walked back to the elevator his eye fell upon another office door which
bore the freshly painted legend, "Frederick McNally, Attorney-at-law."

Harvey lunched at the Cafe Lyon, which is across the street from the main
entrance to the Dartmouth. The day was warm for late September, and he
selected a seat just inside the open door. From his table he could see
people hurrying in and out of the big office building. He watched the
crowd idly as he waited for his lunch, and finally his interest shifted to
the big doors, which seemed to have something human about them, as they
maliciously tried to catch the little messenger boys who rushed between
them as they swung.

Suddenly his attention came back to the crowd, centring on a party of four
men who turned into the great entrance. Three of them he knew, and the
fact that they were together suggested startling possibilities. They were
Wing, Thompson and William C. Porter of Chicago and Truesdale, First
Vice-President of the C. & S.C. and, this was the way Harvey thought of
him, father of the Miss Katherine Porter whose name was at the bottom of
the note in the blue envelope. Thompson, a fat, flaccid man with a
colorless beard, was laboriously holding the door open for Mr. Porter,
then he preceded little Mr. Wing. The fourth man was a stranger to Harvey.

He was starting to follow them when the waiter came up with his order.
That made him pause, and a moment's reflection convinced him that he had
better wait. He decided that if the meeting of Porter with the two M. & T.