rivate sitting-room.

"Wrentz, I want you to take charge of my work hereafter," said the
secretary.

"You mean the work of--"

Owen raised his hand in caution. "The work of conducting a certain
person to a far country."

"But Balthazar?" questioned Wrentz.

"I am through with Balthazar. He's done nothing but procrastinate.
All his plans have failed because it was to his profit that they should
fail."

"I'll do the work quickly. What's your present plan?"

"A very simple one, but one that must be very shrewdly handled. It
will mean that you and some of your friends will have to make a trip to
Philadelphia. Where shall I be able to call you within a day or two?"

"At Stroob's lodging house, in Avenue B."

"Very well. Be prepared to act on short notice."

"I'll stick close to the place, sir."

"And, Wrentz, understand that you are also to act firmly. No
Balthazar, tactics. I'm through being tricked."

"I'm sure I never failed you, sir," said Wrentz, with an aggrieved
air.

Owen smiled. "True, but temptation occasionally leads even the most
honest of men astray," he said, sarcastically.

While this last plot was being hatched Pauline and Harry were playing
chess in the library. As she checkmated him for the third time he
arose in mock disgust.

"They say chess is a perfect mental test. I wonder who is the brains
of this family now?" she taunted.

"There's a difference between brains and hare-brains. You know, I lost
because I had that Chicago thing on my mind."

"Oh, isn't that settled yet?"

"No; I'm expecting to be called up any minute with a message that will
send me out there."

"Oh, Harry! That's terrible! When you go to Chicago you never get
back for a whole week."

"If you like me so much, why don't you marry me and go with me on all
my trips?"

"Conceited!" she began, but her face fell again as the telephone bell
sounded. Harry answered it, and after a few rapid questions turned to
Pauline.

"That's what it is," he said; "I go tomorrow. I must see Owen," and
rang the bell.

"Owen," Pauline exclaimed upon his entrance, "Harry must go to Chicago
tomorrow. Isn't it dreadful?"

"I am very sorry. But I hope it will not be for long."

"No," said Harry, curtly. "Look over these papers."

An hour later Owen drew from his typewriter this letter:

Miss Pauline Marvin,

Carson & Brown,
Publishers, 9 Weston Place,
Philadelphia.

New York.

Dear Ma