Larry looked about him. He took in but a few details, but he knew enough
about the better fittings of life to realize that he was in the presence
of both money and the best of taste. He noted the log fire in the broad
fireplace, comfortable chairs, the imported rugs on the gleaming floor,
the shelves of books which climbed to the ceiling, a quaint writing-desk
in one corner which seemed to belong to another country and another
century, but which was perfectly at home in this room.

On the desk he saw standing a leather-framed photograph which seemed
familiar. He crossed and picked it up. Indeed it was familiar! It was
a photograph of Hunt: of Hunt, not in the shabby, shapeless garments
he wore down at the Duchess's, but Hunt accoutered as might be a man
accustomed to such a room as this--though in this picture there was the
same strong chin, the same belligerent good-natured eyes.

Now how and where did that impecunious, rough-neck painter fit into--

But the dazed question Larry was asking was interrupted by a voice from
the door--the thick voice of a man:

"Who the hell 'r' you?"

Larry whirled about. In the doorway stood a tall, bellicose young
gentleman of perhaps twenty-four or five, in evening dress, flushed of
face, holding unsteadily to the door-jamb.

"I beg your pardon," said Larry.

"'N' what the hell you doin' here?" continued the belligerent young
gentleman.

"I'd be obliged to you if you could tell me," said Larry.

"Tryin' to stall, 'r' you," declared the young gentleman with a scowling
profundity. "No go. Got to come out your corner 'n' fight. 'N' I'm goin'
lick you."

The young man crossed unsteadily to Larry and took a fighting pose.

"Put 'em up!" he ordered.

This was certainly a night of strange adventure, thought Larry. His wild
escape--his coming to this unknown place--and now this befuddled young
fellow intent upon battle with him.

"Let's fight to-morrow," Larry suggested soothingly.

"Put 'em up!" ordered the other. "If you don't know what you're doin'
here, I'll show you what you're doin' here!"

But he was not to show Larry, for while he was uttering his last words,
trying to steady himself in a crouch for the delivery of a blow, a voice
sounded sharply from the doorway--a woman's voice:

"Dick!"

The young man slowly turned. But Larry had seen her first. He had no
chance to take her in, that first moment, beyond noting that she was
slender and young and exquisitely g