lf dubious, as he said:

"Mr. Greenough has left an assignment for you."

"All right," said Banneker, stretching out his hand for the clipping or
slip. None was forthcoming.

"It's a tip," explained Mallory. "It's from a pretty convincing source.
The gist of it is that the Delavan Eyres have separated and a divorce is
impending. You know, of course, who the Eyres are."

"I've met Eyre."

"That so? Ever met his wife?"

"No," replied Banneker, in good faith.

"No; you wouldn't have, probably. They travel different paths. Besides,
she's been practically living abroad. She's a stunner. It's big society
stuff, of course. The best chance of landing the story is from Archie
Densmore, her half-brother. The international polo-player, you know.
You'll find him at The Retreat, down on the Jersey coast."

The Retreat Banneker had heard of as being a bachelor country club whose
distinguishing marks were a rather Spartan athleticism, and a more
stiffly hedged exclusiveness than any other social institution known to
the _elite_ of New York and Philadelphia, between which it stood midway.

"Then I'm to go and ask him," said Banneker slowly, "whether his sister
is suing for divorce?"

"Yes," confirmed Mallory, a trifle nervously. "Find out who's to be
named, of course. I suppose it's that new dancer, though there have been
others. And there was a quaint story about some previous attachment of
Mrs. Eyre's: that might have some bearing."

"I'm to ask her brother about that, too?"

"We want the story," answered Mallory, almost petulantly.

On the trip down into Jersey the reporter had plenty of time to consider
his unsavory task. Some one had to do this kind of thing, so long as the
public snooped and peeped and eavesdropped through the keyhole of print
at the pageant of the socially great: this he appreciated and accepted.
But he felt that it ought to be some one other than himself--and, at the
same time, was sufficiently just to smile at himself for his illogical
attitude.

A surprisingly good auto was found in the town of his destination, to
speed him to the stone gateway of The Retreat. The guardian, always on
duty there, passed him with a civil word, and a sober-liveried flunkey
at the clubhouse door, after a swift, unobtrusive consideration of his
clothes and bearing, took him readily for granted, and said that Mr.
Densmore would be just about going on the polo field for practice. Did
the gentleman know his way to th