ou undoubtedly enjoy."

"Perhaps it is because of my suspicious nature," Peter said. "There is a
man staying in our hotel whom we are beginning to see quite a great deal
of. He was talking to the head porter a few minutes before you this
afternoon. He supped at the same restaurant last night. He is dining
now, three places behind you to the right, with a young lady who has
been making flagrant attempts to flirtation with me, notwithstanding my
grey hairs."

"Your reputation, my dear Peter," Sogrange murmured.

"As a decoy," Peter interrupted, "the young lady's methods are too
vigorous. She pretends to be terribly afraid of her companion, but it is
entirely obvious that she is acting on his instructions. Of course, this
may be a ruse of the reporters. On the other hand, I think it would be
wise to abandon our little expedition to-night."

Sogrange shook his head.

"So far as I am concerned," he said, "I am committed to it."

"In which case," Peter replied, "I am certainly committed to being your
companion. The only question is whether one shall fall to the decoy and
suffer oneself to be led in the direction her companion desires, or
whether we shall go blundering into trouble on our own account with your
friend the ex-detective."

Sogrange glanced over his shoulder, leaned back in his chair, for a
moment, as though to look at the stars, and finally lit a cigarette.

"There is a lack of subtlety about that young person, Baron," he
declared, "which stifles one's suspicions. I suspect her to be merely
one more victim to your undoubted charms. In the interests of madame
your wife I shall take you away. The decoy shall weave her spells in
vain."

They paid their bill and departed a few minutes later. The man and the
girl were also in the act of leaving. The former seemed to be having
some dispute about the bill. The girl, standing with her back to him,
scribbled a line upon a piece of paper, and, as Peter went by, pushed it
into his hand with a little warning gesture. In the lift he opened it.
The few pencilled words contained nothing but an address: Number 15,
100th Street, East.

"Lucky man!" Sogrange sighed.

Peter made no remark, but he was thoughtful for the next hour or so.

The ex-detective proved to be an individual of fairly obvious
appearance, whose complexion and thirst indicated a very possible reason
for his life of leisure. He heard with surprise that his patrons were
not inclined to visit Chinato