int of seeing
the story behind the circumstance; and, had he realized it, a common
instinct bound him in a triangular link to the peering, winking lamps,
and to the Russian boy lying unsociably wrapped in his heavy coat. All
three had an eye for an adventure.

But the lights were up, and the curtain down--it was a theatre between
the acts; and presently the calculating voice of McCutcheon broke forth
again, as he relapsed into his original attitude, coiling up his long
limbs and nursing his cigar to a glow.

"I can't get over that 'four jacks,'" he said. "To think I could have
been funked into seeing Billy at fifty!"

Blake laughed. "'Twas the eye-glass did it, Mac! A man shouldn't be
allowed to play poker with an eye-glass; it's taking an undue
advantage."

McCutcheon smiled his dry smile and shot a quizzical glance at the neat
young Englishman, who had become absorbed in one of his papers.

"Solid face, Blake!" he agreed. "Nothing so fine as an eye-glass for
sheer bluff. What would Billy be without one? Well, perhaps we won't
say. But with it you have no use for doubt--he's a diplomat all the
time."

The young man named Billy showed no irritation. With the composure which
he wore as a garment, he went on with his occupation.

For a time McCutcheon bore this aloofness, then he opened a new attack.
"What are you reading, my son? Makes a man sort of want his breakfast to
see that hungry look in your eyes. Share the provender, won't you?"

Billy looked up sedately.

"You fellows think my life's a game," he said. "But I tell you it takes
some doing to keep in touch with things."

Blake laughed chaffingly. "And the illustrated weekly papers are an
excellent substitute for Blue-books?"

Billy remained undisturbed. "It's all very well to scoff, but one may
get a side-light anywhere. In diplomacy nothing's too insignificant to
notice."

Again Blake laughed. "The principle on which it offers you a living?"

"Oh, come," said Billy, "that's rather rough! You know very well what I
mean. 'Tisn't always in the serious reports you get the color of a fact,
just as the gossip of a dinner-table is often more enlightening than a
cabinet council."

"Apropos?"

"I was thinking of this Petersburg affair."

"What? The everlasting Duma business?" McCutcheon drew in a long breath
of smoke.

Billy looked superior, as befitted a man who dealt in subtler matters
than mere politics. "Not at all," he said. "The disappearance