ven't
you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Francis, do you suppose you could undertake a little piece of
detective work for me, and handle it intelligently and quietly?"

"I think so," said Francis, who was the pink of perfection this morning
in a brown suit, garnet tie, and sard sleeve-links. His shoes were
immaculately polished, and his young, healthy face glistened.

"I'll tell you what I want you to do. There is a young actress, or
amateur actress, by the name of Stephanie Platow, who frequents the
studio of an artist named Cross in the New Arts Building. She may even
occupy it in his absence--I don't know. I want you to find out for me
what the relations of Mr. Gurney and this woman are. I have certain
business reasons for wanting to know."

Young Kennedy was all attention.

"You couldn't tell me where I could find out anything about this Mr.
Gurney to begin with, could you?" he asked.

"I think he is a friend of a critic here by the name of Gardner
Knowles. You might ask him. I need not say that you must never
mention me.

"Oh, I understand that thoroughly, Mr. Cowperwood." Young Kennedy
departed, meditating. How was he to do this? With true journalistic
skill he first sought other newspaper men, from whom he learned--a bit
from one and a scrap from another--of the character of the Garrick
Players, and of the women who belonged to it. He pretended to be
writing a one-act play, which he hoped to have produced.

He then visited Lane Cross's studio, posing as a newspaper interviewer.
Mr. Cross was out of town, so the elevator man said. His studio was
closed.

Mr. Kennedy meditated on this fact for a moment.

"Does any one use his studio during the summer months?" he asked.

"I believe there is a young woman who comes here--yes."

"You don't happen to know who it is?"

"Yes, I do. Her name is Platow. What do you want to know for?"

"Looky here," exclaimed Kennedy, surveying the rather shabby attendant
with a cordial and persuasive eye, "do you want to make some
money--five or ten dollars, and without any trouble to you?"

The elevator man, whose wages were exactly eight dollars a week,
pricked up his ears.

"I want to know who comes here with this Miss Platow, when they
come--all about it. I'll make it fifteen dollars if I find out what I
want, and I'll give you five right now."

The elevator factotum had just sixty-five cents in his pocket at the
time. He looked at Kennedy with some uncerta