e
alone this evening. Why, won't you dine with us, say at the Carlton?"

"We'd love to," the lady assented promptly.

"At eight o'clock," Peter said, taking his leave.

The dinner-party was a great success. Mrs. Heseltine-Wrigge found
herself amongst the class of people with whom it was her earnest desire
to become acquainted, and her husband was well satisfied to see her keen
longing for Society likely to be gratified. The subject of Peter's call
at the office in the City was studiously ignored. It was not until the
very end of the evening, indeed, that the host of this very agreeable
party was rewarded by a single hint. It all came about in the most
natural manner. They were speaking of foreign capitals.

"I love Paris," Mrs. Heseltine-Wrigge told her host. "Just adore it.
Charles is often there on business, and I always go along."

Peter smiled. There was just a chance here.

"Your husband does not often have to leave London?" he remarked
carelessly.

She nodded.

"Not often enough," she declared. "I just love getting about. Last week
we had a perfectly horrible trip, though. We started off for Belfast
quite unexpectedly, and I hated every minute of it."

Peter smiled inwardly, but he said never a word. His companion was
already chattering on about something else. Peter crossed the hall a few
minutes later to speak to an acquaintance, slipped out to the telephone
booth, and spoke to his servant.

"A bag and a change," he ordered, "at Euston Station at twelve o'clock,
in time for the Irish mail. Your mistress will be home as usual."

An hour later the dinner-party broke up. Early the next morning Peter
crossed the Irish Channel. He returned the following day, and crossed
again within a few hours. In five days the affair was finished, except
for the _denouement_.

Peter ascended in the lift to Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge's office the
following Thursday, calm and unruffled as usual, but nevertheless a
little exultant. It was barely half an hour ago since he had become
finally prepared for this interview. He was looking forward to it now
with feelings of undiluted satisfaction. Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge was in, he
was told, and he was at once admitted to his presence. The financier
greeted him with a somewhat curious smile.

"Say, this is very nice of you to look me up again!" he exclaimed.
"Still worrying about that loan, eh?"

Peter shook his head.

"No, I'm not worrying about that any more," he answered, accept