Miss Cumberly, it is simply enchanting! A girl with such a
figure as yours never looks better than when she dresses sportily!"

The latent vulgarity of the man was escaping from the bondage in which
ordinarily he confined it. A real passion had him in its grip, and the
real Gianapolis was speaking. Helen hesitated for one fateful moment; it
was going to be even worse than she had anticipated. She glanced up at
Palace Mansions.

Across a curtained window moved a shadow, that of a man wearing a long
gown and having his hands clasped behind him, whose head showed as an
indistinct blur because the hair was wildly disordered. This shadow
passed from side to side of the window and was lost from view. It was
the shadow of Henry Leroux.

"I am afraid I have a lot of work to do," said Helen, with a little
catch in her voice.

"My dear Miss Cumberly," cried Gianapolis, eagerly, placing his hand
upon her arm, "it is precisely of your work that I wish to speak to you!
Your work is familiar to me--I never miss a line of it; and knowing how
you delight in the outre and how inimitably you can describe scenes of
Bohemian life, I had hoped, since it was my privilege to meet you, that
you would accept my services as cicerone to some of the lesser-known
resorts of Bohemian London. Your article, 'Dinner in Soho,' was a
delightful piece of observation, and the third--I think it was the
third--of the same series: 'Curiosities of the Cafe Royal,' was equally
good. But your powers of observation would be given greater play in any
one of the three establishments to which I should be honored to escort
you."

Helen Cumberly, though perfectly self-reliant, as only the modern girl
journalist can be, was fully aware that, not being of the flat-haired,
bespectacled type, she was called upon to exercise rather more care
in her selection of companions for copy-hunting expeditions than was
necessary in the case of certain fellow-members of the Scribes' Club. No
power on earth could have induced her to accept such an invitation from
such a man, under ordinary circumstances; even now, with so definite
and important an object in view, she hesitated. The scheme might lead
to nothing; Denise Ryland (horrible thought!) might lose the track; the
track might lead to no place of importance, so far as her real inquiry
was concerned.

In this hour of emergency, new and wiser ideas were flooding her brain.
For instance, they might have admitted Inspector Dun