actor."

"The noble lord is disqualified," broke in Devar. "This is the second
time since the flag fell that he has refused his fences."

"If you interrupt again I shall turn you out of the room, Mr. Devar,"
cried Steingall vexedly.

"But, dash it all, Steingall, somebody must see that John D. has fair
play. He only swerved once, and then for a single stride, while he----"

"I shall not warn you a second time," and Devar knew that the detective
meant what he said, and kept quiet.

"May I ask where the police headquarters are situated?" said the Earl
in the frostiest tone he could command at the moment.

"At the corner of Center Street and Grand," said Steingall
indifferently. He was about to add the unpleasing fact--unpleasing to
Lord Valletort, that is--that the man on duty at the Detective Bureau
would certainly refer an inquirer to him, Steingall, when the clerk
reappeared.

"A patrolman has brought a note for you," he said, handing Steingall a
sealed letter, which the detective opened instantly after glancing at
the superscription. It was from the police captain, and ran:

"Count Vassilan has just left the Waldorf-Astoria in a taxi. Clancy is
driving."

Steingall's face betrayed no more expression than that of the Sphinx,
though inwardly he was consumed with laughter; he himself was chief of
the Bureau, and Clancy was his most trusted assistant! Certainly, the
gods were contriving a spicy dish for the news-loving inhabitants of
New York.

CHAPTER VIII

TEN-THIRTY

The Earl of Valletort turned on his heel, and went out abruptly.
Therefore, he missed Steingall's first words to the hotel clerk, which
would have given him furiously to think, while it is reasonable to
suppose that he would have paid quite a large sum of money to have
heard the clerk's answer.

For the detective said:

"Do you happen to know anything about a Frenchman, name of Jean de
Courtois?"

And the clerk replied:

"Why, yes. He's in his room now, I believe."

"In his room--where?"

"Here, of course. He came in about 6.30, took his key and a
Marconigram, and has not showed up since."

Uncle Horace could withstand the strain no longer.

"Would you mind sending the waiter again?" he gasped. "If I don't get
a pick-me-up of some sort quickly, I'll collapse."

Aunt Louisa would dearly have loved to put in a word, but she knew not
what to say. Life at Bloomington supplied no parallel to the rapidity
of exis