bout this
date?"

"I remember," I answered. "Let us interview Oscar, then, upon the
subject of dinner; it will be cooler up at Thirty-fourth Street.
Afterwards we will have our adventure on the trolley."

Well, we went and had our dinner, but, as you shall see, the
trolley-ride had to be indefinitely postponed. We had started down
Fifth Avenue, and near Madison Square we ran squarely into Indiman's
cousin, George Estes. He was standing near a brilliantly illumined
shop-window, and gazing intently at a small object that lay in the
hollow of his hand.

"Oh, it's you," he said, absently. Then, with a little laugh, "What do
you think of this?" He held out to us a small button fashioned of some
semiprecious stone like Mexican opal; it glowed with an elusive reddish
lustre.

"It looks almost alive," commented Indiman.

"The vital spark, eh? Well, you're not so far out, for it means a man's
life."

"What is it, George?" asked Indiman, gravely.

"Not to-night, old chap. It may be a mistake--probably is. Or say that
I was kidding you."

"That won't do, George. You've said both too much and too little. Cab
there!" he called, and a hansom drew up to the curb.

"You'll excuse me, Thorp--a family affair." He motioned to the boy to
enter; he obeyed, sulkily enough, and they drove off.

VII

The Opal Button

Now, as a matter of fact, I had no part in the affair of the opal
button; for on the very next day following our meeting with Estes I
came down with typhoid and spent the next two months in the hospital. I
saw little of Indiman during that time, but his seeming neglect was
fully explained by the story he told me the night I was well enough to
get back to 4020 Madison Avenue.

"You remember, of course," began Indiman, "that I went off with Estes
that May evening with just an apology to you about a family affair.
Really, I knew nothing; but the boy's manner struck me as peculiar,
and, while the incident of the opal button was trifling in itself, I
was sure that there was something behind it. But when I plumped the
question squarely at Estes he had nothing to say except that the jewel
had been slipped into his hand while he stood looking into a
shop-window. Where it came from he did not know; what it meant he
either could not or would not tell. So I had to drop the subject for
the time. But it came up again of its own accord four days later, the
exact date being May 15th. So much by way of preamble; the sto