tive. A roof
garden, by all means."

"And recollect," Peter insisted, "I bar Chinatown. We've both of us seen
the real thing, and there's nothing real about what they show you here."

"Chinatown is erased from our programme," Sogrange agreed. "We go now to
dine. Remind me, Baron, that I inquire for these strange dishes of which
one hears--terrapin, canvas-backed duck, green corn, and strawberry
shortcake."

Peter smiled grimly.

"How like a Frenchman," he exclaimed, "to take no account of seasons!
Never mind, Marquis, you shall give your order and I will sketch the
waiter's face. By the by, if you're in earnest about this expedition
to-night, put your revolver into your pocket."

"But we're going with an ex-detective," Sogrange replied.

"One never knows," Peter said carelessly.

They dined close to the stone palisading of one of New York's most
famous roof gardens. Sogrange ordered an immense dinner, but spent most
of his time gazing downwards. They were higher up than at the hotel, and
they could see across the tangled maze of lights even to the river,
across which the great ferry boats were speeding all the while--huge
creatures of streaming fire and whistling sirens. The air where they sat
was pure and crisp. There was no fog, no smoke, to cloud the almost
crystalline clearness of the night.

"Baron," Sogrange declared, "if I had lived in this city I should have
been a different man. No wonder the people are all-conquering."

"Too much electricity in the air for me," Peter answered. "I like a
little repose. I can't think where these people find it."

"One hopes," Sogrange murmured, "that before they progress any further
in utilitarianism they will find some artist, one of themselves, to
express all this."

"In the meantime," Peter interrupted, "the waiter would like to know
what we are going to drink. I've eaten such a confounded jumble of
things of your ordering that I should like some champagne."

"Who shall say that I am not generous!" Sogrange replied, taking up the
wine carte. "Champagne it shall be. We need something to nerve us for
our adventures."

Peter leaned across the table.

"Sogrange," he whispered, "for the last twenty-four hours I have had
some doubts as to the success of our little enterprise. It has occurred
to me more than once that we are being shadowed."

Sogrange frowned.

"I sometimes wonder," he remarked, "how a man of your suspicious nature
ever acquired the reputation y