en loitering in the hall followed me into
the elevator.

"This is Mr. Lester, isn't it?" he asked, as the car started to
descend.

"Yes," I said, looking at him in surprise. He was well dressed, with
alert eyes and strong, pleasing face. I had never seen him before.

"And you're going to dinner, aren't you, Mr. Lester?" he continued.

"Yes--to dinner," I assented, more and more surprised.

"Now, don't think me impertinent," he said, smiling at my look of
amazement, "but I want you to dine with me this evening. I can promise
you as good a meal as you will get at most places in New York."

"But I'm not dressed," I protested.

"That doesn't matter in the least--neither am I, you see. We will dine
in a _solitude a deux_."

"Where?" I questioned.

"Well, how would the Studio suit?"

The car had reached the ground floor, and we left it together. I was
completely in the dark as to my companion's purpose, and yet it could
have but one explanation--it must be connected in some way with the
Holladay case. Unless--and I glanced at him again. No, certainly, he
was not a confidence man--even if he was, I would rather welcome the
adventure. My curiosity won the battle.

"Very well," I said. "I'll be glad to accept your invitation, Mr.----"

He nodded approvingly.

"There spoke the man of sense. Well, you shall not go unrewarded.
Godfrey is my name--no, you don't know me, but I'll soon explain
myself. Here's my cab."

I mounted into it, he after me. It seemed to me that there was an
unusual number of loiterers about the door of the building, but we
were off in a moment, and I did not give them a second thought. We
rattled out into Broadway, and turned northward for the three-mile
straightaway run to Union Square. I noticed in a moment that we were
going at a rate of speed rather exceptional for a cab, and it steadily
increased, as the driver found a clear road before him. My companion
threw up the trap in the roof of the cab as we swung around into
Thirteenth Street.

"All right, Sam?" he called.

The driver grinned down at us through the hole.

"All right, sir," he answered. "They couldn't stand the pace a little
bit. They're distanced."

The trap snapped down again, we turned into Sixth Avenue, and stopped
in a moment before the Studio--gray and forbidding without, but a
dream within. My companion led the way upstairs to a private room,
where a table stood ready set for us. The oysters appeared before we
wer