heerful to-night," Helen remarked.

"More so than I usually do when you see me?"

"More so than the last time I saw you, at all events. Does this mean
that you have correctly solved the O'Connor mystery? You really got me
very much interested in it."

"No, I haven't solved it. But I have a clew--the one you gave me. If
it is the right one, we shall learn very soon."

On the stairs came the sound of Jenks's returning feet, followed a
moment later by the rumor of Miss Wardrop's own approach.

"Good evening," she greeted Smith.

"I've come to ask you a favor," he answered. "I once happened to save
the life of a head waiter, and he has now repaid the obligation by
reserving a table for me to-night at the Cafe Turin, and I want you and
Miss Maitland to come and dine with me."

Miss Wardrop wavered; she looked at her niece inquiringly.

"Then you'll come," Smith said.

The old lady laughed.

"Apparently I will, if Miss Maitland has no other plan for the evening."

Helen signified that she had none; and thus it was that eight o'clock
found them seated in an eligible corner of the big, gay restaurant,
watching the animated holiday crowd, and themselves in no somber or
taciturn mood.

A restaurant may be the resort of strange people, but it is an
institution of peculiar attractiveness, for all that. All the other
tables in the room were occupied by merry parties, jewels and demigems
glinted back a thousand lights, men and women of society and out of it
laughed and talked, there was the clink of a myriad of glasses, the
hurrying of anxious and expectant waiters, the tinkle of silverware on
china, mingled with the ignored strains of an orchestra invisible and
sufficiently remote not to dictate offensively the tempo of mastication
of the diners. It was nothing if not a cosmopolitan gathering. In the
crowd were, to judge from appearances, foreigners of many races; but
all were masquerading as citizens of the world.

"A conglomerate crew," Smith observed. "They like to convey the
impression that last week they dined on the terrace at Bertolini's in
Naples, or at Claridge's, or Shepheard's at Cairo, or the Madrid in the
Bois, or the Poinciana; while as a matter of fact most of them are like
myself and get into this sort of game about twice a year."

"Where do you suppose they all come from?" Miss Wardrop inquired. She
affected the newer haunts of modern society very little, and this sort
of gathering was str