ing indifferently from table to table,
suddenly rested, fixed, on the girl. They showed interest but no
surprise. He bowed with a half-smile--an odd smile, bland, tolerant, and
understanding. Then, disregarding her lack of response, he fixed his
eyes on the wall facing him and waited patiently for his luncheon to be
served.

Laurie's attention returned to the girl. She was facing him again, but
her eyes looked past him as if he were not there.

"He has found me, even here," she muttered. "Of course he would. He
always does."

Laurie looked at her.

"Do you mean," he asked crisply, "that that chap across the room is
following you around?"

She looked at him, as if abruptly recalled to the fact of his presence.
Her eyes dropped.

"Yes," she muttered, dully. "I may escape him for a time, but he always
learns where I am. He will catch me when he chooses, and roll me about
under his paws for a while, and then--perhaps--let me go again."

"That sounds like a certain phase of domestic life," commented Laurie.
"Is he by any chance your husband?"

Her eyes held a rising anger.

"He is not," she said. "I am not married."

Laurie dropped his dead cigarette into the ash tray, and rose with a
sigh.

"It's all very confusing," he admitted, "and a digression from the main
issue. But I'm afraid I shall have to go to the exertion of reasoning
with him."

She started up, but before she could protest or restrain him, he had
left her and crossed the room to the stranger's table.

CHAPTER V

MR. HERBERT RANSOME SHAW

The man in the shabby blue-serge suit detached his absent gaze from the
opposite wall, and looked up quickly when Laurie stopped at his side. He
was clearly surprised, but courteous. He half rose from his chair, but
the new-comer waved him back and dropped easily into the vacant seat
opposite him. He was smiling. The man in blue serge was not. He looked
puzzled, though vaguely responsive. A third person, watching the two,
might almost have thought the episode the casual reunion of men who
frequently lunched together.

Laurie leaned forward in his chair, rested one elbow on the table, and,
opening his cigarette-case, extended it to the stranger. The latter
rejected it with a slight bow.

"Thank you, but not before lunch," he said, quietly. His voice and
manner were those of an educated man. The quality of his tone was
slightly harsh.

Laurie lit a cigarette, blew out the match, and looked straig