acceptance into the firm. Never in his experience at the
factory had any employee been recognized unofficially by Mr. Bangs. To
all appearances, he lived in a large limousine which deposited him at the
office at exactly eight-thirty and collected him again on the stroke of
four. Rumor hinted, however, that he owned a place in the suburbs, and
that the establishment was one that did not invite publicity.

"Very well, sir," said Quin. "What time shall I be ready?"

"We will start at once," said Mr. Bangs, leading the way to the door.

On the drive out, Quin's efforts at conversation met with small
encouragement. Mr. Bangs responded only when he felt like it, and did not
scruple to leave an observation, or even a question, permanently
suspended in an embarrassing silence. Quin soon found it much more
interesting to commune with himself. It was exciting to conjecture what
was about to happen, and what effect it would have on his love affair. If
he got a raise, would he be justified in putting his fate to the test?
All spring he had fought the temptation of going to New York in the hope
that by waiting he would have more to offer. If by any miracle of grace
Miss Nell should yield him the slightest foothold, he must be prepared to
storm the citadel and take possession at once.

The abrupt turn of the automobile into a somber avenue of locusts
recalled him to the present, and he looked about him curiously. Mr. Bangs
had not been satisfied to build his habitation far from town; he had
taken, the added precaution to place it a mile back from the road. It was
a somewhat pretentious modern house, half hidden by a high hedge. The
window-shades were drawn, the doors were closed. The only signs of life
about the place were a porch chair, still rocking as if from recent
occupation, and a thin blue scarf that had evidently been dropped in
sudden flight.

Mr. Bangs let himself in with a latch-key, and led the way into a big
dreary room that was evidently meant for a library. A handsome suite of
regulation mahogany furniture did its best to justify the room's claim to
its title, but rows of empty bookshelves yawned derision at the pretense.

Mr. Bangs lit the electrolier, and, motioning Quin to a chair, sat down
heavily. Now that he had achieved a guest, he seemed at a loss to know
what to do with him.

"Do you play chess?" he asked abruptly.

"I can play 'most anything," Quin boasted. "Poker's my specialty."

For an hour they