"In one way, I seem to be dreaming it. Under it all there's a conviction
that I'm on the track of the mystery; that everything will be cleared
up, for us both, in another minute or two. It's merely an instinct. I
can't explain it. But one thing I know. Sooner or later--sooner, I
hope--I shall be able to work it out for you."

She seemed suddenly to remember that he was holding her hands. Flushing,
she gently withdrew them. Then she turned, and with a brusque gesture
walked away from him.

"I'm sorry I got you into this!" she cried.

"Don't worry about me." He smiled at her from the door he was holding
open. "May I come and take you to lunch to-morrow?"

"Not to-morrow. The next day, perhaps."

"We've got to look for that job, you know."

"With all this?" She indicated with the toe of her slipper a significant
spot on the rug.

Laurie regarded the slipper with approval. It was a beautiful slipper,
on a charming foot. It so diverted his mind from the main issue of the
conversation that he was in the elevator and half-way down to the ground
floor before he recalled that issue. He was not disturbed. Doris had
enough to go on with; and certainly he himself had sufficient scope for
thought in the revelations she had just made.

As he walked down the outer steps of the studio building and emerged on
the sidewalk, a figure detached itself from the shadow of a low iron
fence and stealthily followed him. It was a short figure, overcoated out
of recognition. It carried its hands in its pockets, and its head was
thrust forward in a peculiar way. It kept a dozen feet behind him, until
he reached the pretentious entrance of the apartment building where he
dwelt.

Here, in the glaring light of two huge electric globes, conveniently
held aloft for him by a pair of bronze warriors, Laurie turned suddenly,
warned by the inner sense that tells us we are watched. The figure
behind ducked modestly into the background, but not until he had
recognized the round face and projecting eyes of Herbert Ransome Shaw.

Laurie checked a passionate impulse to hurl himself upon that lurking
and unpleasant shape. Slowly but surely he was learning self-control.
Martin, the elevator operator, and Griggs, the night hall man, were
already bidding him good evening and regarding him with friendly and
interested eyes. To see him suddenly fall upon and beat a shabby
stranger would surprise and pain them, besides unpleasantly stirring up
the neighborh