arried
under her arm a small portfolio.

There was a certain swing to her shoulder as she walked, a certain
undulatory movement of hip, which spoke of a large satisfaction with
the world as she found it.

Bones, something of a connoisseur and painfully worldly, pursed his
lips and broke off the conversation in which he was engaged, and which
had to do with the prospective profits on his jute deal, and remarked
tersely:

"Ham, dear old thing, that is a chinchilla coat worth twelve hundred
pounds."

Hamilton, to whom the mysteries of feminine attire were honest
mysteries, accepted the sensational report without demur.

"The way you pick up these particular bits of information, Bones, is
really marvellous to me. It isn't as though you go out a lot into
society. It isn't as though women are fond of you or make a fuss of
you."

Bones coughed.

"Dicky Orum. Remember, dear old Richard," he murmured. "My private
life, dear old fellow, if you will forgive me snubbing you, is a matter
on which nobody is an authority except A. Tibbetts, Esq. There's a lot
you don't know, dear old Ham. I was thinking of writing a book about
it, but it would take too long."

By this time they reached the elevator, which descended in time to
receive the beautiful lady in the brown coat. Bones removed his hat,
smoothed his glossy hair, and with a muttered "After you, dear old
friend. Age before honesty," bundled Hamilton into the lift and
followed him.

The elevator stopped at the third floor, and the lady got out. Bones,
his curiosity overcoming his respect for age or his appreciation of
probity, followed her, and was thrilled to discover that she made
straight for his office. She hesitated for a moment before that which
bore the word "Private," and passed on to the outer and general office.

Bones slipped into his own room so quickly that by the time Hamilton
entered he was sitting at his desk in a thoughtful and studious
attitude.

It cannot be said that the inner office was any longer entitled to the
description of sanctum sanctorum. Rather was the holy of holies the
larger and less ornate apartment wherein sat A Being whose capable
little fingers danced over complicated banks of keys.

The communicating door opened and the Being appeared. Hamilton,
mindful of a certain agreement with his partner, pretended not to see
her.

"There's a lady who wishes a private interview with you, Mr. Tibbetts,"
said the girl.

Bon