uit.

It would be better, however, if they did not see Melis. Much better;
there was no use involving a simple situation. And Bev could be kept out
of it altogether, until it was over. Ashamed of his panic he went back
to the theater, got a railway schedule and looked up trains. He should
have done it long before, he recognized, have gone to Bassett in the
spring. But how could he have known then that Bassett was going to make
a life-work of the case?

He had only one uncertainty. Suppose that Bassett had learned about
Clifton Hines?

By the time the curtain rang down on the last act he was his dapper,
debonair self again, made his supper engagement, danced half the night,
and even dozed a little on the way home. But he slept badly and was up
early, struggling with the necessity for keeping Jean Melis out of the
way.

He wondered through what formalities L 22, for instance, would have
to go in order to secure a letter addressed to him? Whether he had to
present a card or whether he walked in demanded his mail and went away.
That thought brought another with it. Wasn't it probable that Bassett
was in New York, and would call for his mail himself?

He determined finally to take the chance, claim to be L 22, and if Melis
had seen the advertisement and replied, get the letter. It would be easy
to square it with the valet, by saying that he had recognized him in the
theater and that Miss Carlysle wished to send him a box.

He had small hope of a letter at his first call, unless the Frenchman
had himself seen the notice, but his anxiety drove him early to the
office. There was nothing there, but he learned one thing. He had to
go through with no formalities. The clerk merely looked in a box, said
"Nothing here," and went on about his business. At eleven o'clock he
went back again, and after a careful scrutiny of the crowd presented
himself once more.

"L 22? Here you are."

He had the letter in his hand. He had glanced at it and had thrust it
deep in his pocket, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He wheeled and
faced Bassett.

"I thought I recognized that back," said the reporter, cheerfully. "Come
over here, old man. I want to talk to you."

But he held to Gregory's shoulder. In a corner Bassett dropped the
friendliness he had assumed for the clerk's benefit, and faced him with
cold anger.

"I'll have that letter now, Gregory," he said. "And I've got a damned
good notion to lodge an information against you."