"So my clerk informed me when I saw him a few minutes ago." Kent helped
her inside the limousine. "Won't you come to my office now?"

"But that will be taking you from Mr. Clymer," remonstrated Mrs.
Brewster. "Weren't you on the way to the bank?"

"I was," admitted Kent. "But I can see Mr. Clymer later in the day."

"And I'll be less occupied then," added Clymer. "Go with Mrs. Brewster,
Kent; good morning, madam," and with a courtly bow Clymer withdrew.

Kent's office was only around the corner, and as Mrs. Brewster kept up
a running fire of impersonal gossip, Kent had no opportunity to satisfy
his curiosity regarding her reasons for wanting to interview him. As the
limousine drew up at the curb in front of his office, a man darting down
the steps of the building, caught sight of Kent and hurried to the car
window.

"I was just trying to catch you at the bank, Mr. Kent," he explained,
and looking around Kent recognized Sylvester. "There's been three
telephone calls for you in succession from Colonel McIntyre to hurry to
his home."

"Thanks, Sylvester." Kent turned to Mrs. Brewster. "Would you mind
driving me to the McIntyre? We can talk on the way there."

Mrs. Brewster picked up the speaking tube. "Home, Harris," she
directed, as the chauffeur listened for the order.

Neither spoke as the big car started up the street but as they swung
past old St. John's Church, Mrs. Brewster broke her silence.

"Mr. Kent," she drew further back in her corner. "I claim a woman's
privilege--to change my mind. Forget that I ever expressed a wish to
consult you professionally, and remember, I am always glad to meet you
as a friend."

"Certainly, Mrs. Brewster, as you wish." Kent's tone, expressing polite
acquiescence, covered mixed feelings. What had caused the widow to
change her mind so suddenly, and above all, what had she wished to
consult him about? He faced her more directly. She was charmingly
gowned, and in spite of his perplexities, he could not but admire her
air of quiet elegance and the soft dark eyes regarding him in friendly
good-fellowship. Suddenly realizing that his glance had become a fixed
stare, he hastily averted his eyes from her face, catching sight, as
he did so, of the gold mesh bag lying in her lap. The glint of sunlight
brought into prominence the handsomely engraved letter "B" on its
surface. An unexpected swerve of the limousine, as the chauffeur turned
short to avoid a speeding army truck, cau