lope in my
pocket, assured myself that there was nothing more I could do for him,
and returned to the office. Just as I was getting ready to leave, Mr.
Royce came in, a chagrined look on his face.

"Mrs. Royce just telephoned me," he said. "She drove out there, as I
asked her to, but Miss Vaughan refused to see her."

I had expected it, but the certainty that we had failed again did not
add to my cheerfulness.

"Swain wants us to kidnap her," I said, with a twisted smile.

"I'm not sure but that he's right," said my partner, and went
thoughtfully away.

I went to my rooms, changed, had dinner at a quiet restaurant, and
then took the elevated for the long trip to the Bronx. It was after
eight o'clock when I pulled the bell beside the tall gates to
Elmhurst. The gardener was evidently expecting me, for he appeared
almost at once and admitted me. Without waiting for him, I walked up
the drive toward the house. The lights were on in the library, and I
stepped up to the open door.

Then I stopped, and my heart fell. For there were two white-robed
figures in the room. One was Miss Vaughan and the other was Francisco
Silva. The girl was sitting at his feet.

They had evidently heard my footsteps, for they were looking toward
the door, and Miss Vaughan arose as soon as I came within the circle
of light. But if I expected her to show any embarrassment, I was
disappointed.

"Come in, Mr. Lester," she said. "I believe you have not met Senor Silva."

The yogi had risen, and now he bowed to me.

"Our encounters heretofore have been purely formal," he said, smiling.
"I am happy to meet you, Mr. Lester."

His manner was friendly and unaffected, and imperceptibly some of my
distrust of him slipped away.

"I have told Senor Silva," Miss Vaughan continued, when we were
seated, "that you have consented to act as my man of business."

"And it is my intention," broke in Silva, "to beseech Mr. Lester to
consent to act as my man of business also. I am sure that I shall need
one."

I was not at all sure of it, for he seemed capable of dealing with
any situation.

"It would not be possible for me to represent divergent interests," I
pointed out.

"My dear sir," protested the yogi, "there will be no divergent
interests. Suppose we put it in this way: you will represent Miss
Vaughan, and will dispose of my interests from that standpoint. There
could be no objection to that, I suppose?"

"No," I answered, slowly; "but befor