latter was much quieter than usual, so much so that in
the lounge after luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton, Jacob commented upon
his silence.

"Lose your heart last night, Felix?" he enquired.

"I'm a slow-mover with the fillies, worse luck!" the young man
answered, shaking his head. "I wasn't as blind as I seemed, either. I
am going to try and get our demure friend with the blinkers out on the
razzle-dazzle again to-night."

"Not sure that I approve," Jacob said. "I don't think Morse cares much
about that sort of thing, either."

"I'm not entirely convinced, you know," Felixstowe observed, "that
we've quite got the hang of that fellow."

"In what way?" Jacob enquired.

"Well," his young companion continued, stretching himself out in the
chair and lighting a fresh cigarette, "between you and me, Mr. Morse
was pretty well-known at the low haunts we dropped in at last night.
You can tell when a Johnny's at home and when he isn't, you know, and
I saw him looking at me once or twice when they called him by his
Christian name, for instance, as though he hoped I wasn't catching
on."

"That seems quite reasonable," Jacob observed. "Sam's a pretty
broadminded chap, but I dare say he wouldn't like the idea of his
secretary being a frequenter of all sorts of night haunts."

"One for yours truly, eh?"

"Not at all. You are more a companion than a secretary, so far, and
besides, you haven't control over my finances. What have you been
studying that directory for?"

Lord Felixstowe laid down the massive volume which he had just
borrowed from the office clerk.

"Been looking 'em all up," he confided. "Doctor Brand Bardolf,
Physician, Number 1001 West Fifty-seventh Street--he's there, with
letters enough after his name to make a mess of the whole alphabet.
Sydney Morse--he's there, same address as Samuel Pratt. And the
stockbrokers, Worstead and Jones, Number 202 Wall Street."

"What made you look them all up?" Jacob asked curiously.

"I'm damned if I know," was the candid reply. "All the same, I'm here
to look after you a bit, you know, old dear, and when you're parting
with the dibs to the tune of a hundred thousand quid, you need some
one around with his weather eye open."

Jacob smiled tolerantly.

"That's all right, Felix," he agreed, "but remember I'm parting with
it under my brother's roof, to his own stockbrokers, on the advice of
his own private secretary and physician. Morse wouldn't even have the
cheque made