drove him indoors with a crash of metallic melody.

As he dropped the curtains his eye was arrested by a gleam of
white upon his desk,--a letter placed there, doubtless, by O'Hagan
in Maitland's absence. At the same time, a splashing and gurgling
of water from the direction of the bath-room informed him that the
janitor-valet was even then preparing his bath. But that could
wait.

Maitland took up the envelope and tore the flap, remarking the
name and address of his lawyer in its upper left-hand corner.
Unfolding the inclosure, he read a date a week old, and two lines
requesting him to communicate with his legal adviser upon "a
matter of pressing moment."

"Bother!" said Maitland. "What the dickens--"

He pulled up short, eyes lighting. "That's so, you know," he
argued: "Bannerman will be delighted, and--and even business is
better than rushing round town and pretending to enjoy yourself
when it's hotter than the seven brass hinges of hell and you can't
think of anything else.... I'll do it!"

He stepped quickly to the corner of the room, where stood the
telephone upon a small side table, sat down, and, receiver to ear,
gave Central a number. In another moment he was in communication
with his attorney's residence.

"Is Mr. Bannerman in? I would like to--"