d, addressed
to a mythical person and unsealed."

"What for?"

"So that, on the remote chance of any one in this house questioning your
presence, you can show that you're merely delivering a grip--your
own--for me!" smiled Fry, as he scribbled. "Rather clever, that, eh?"

"Horribly clever!" Mary said enigmatically.

Two long minutes the pen scratched on, while Mary watched his back with
the same inscrutable, almost unwinking stare. Then Anthony turned with a
smile.

"This is to Mr. J. Thurston Phillips at the Astor Hotel," said he. "If I
were you, I'd carry it rather conspicuously; it's quite possible that
the clerk downstairs may want to know who you are. And, also if I were
you, I'd explain that you're the son of an old friend of mine and a
stranger in the city and that I put you up overnight--something like
that. You understand?"

"I hear you say it," said Mary.

Anthony's countenance darkened a little as he rose.

"Then please pay strict attention to what I say!" he said. "I am doing
my best to undo an absurd piece of business. I'm quite ready to admit
that it is just that, but the blame isn't quite all my own. You should
have told me the truth. Now, when you're dressed and ready--simply
leave! Just walk down the corridor to the door, please, open it and go.
There's no need of risking another inspection by Mr. Boller; you look
decidedly less like a boy in daylight, believe me. Is everything clear?"

"I suppose it is," sighed Mary, with a significant glance at the door.

Anthony allowed himself a single sigh of relief.

"This, then, is our parting," he said, with a faint, Kindly smile. "I
ask your pardon and the best thing I can wish you is a safe return home.
Good-by."

"Au revoir," Mary said, with another glance at the door.

She seemed to have accepted the situation, blue suit and all; she was a
sensible little thing, Anthony reflected almost comfortably, as he
hurried back to his own room and his bath.

And now he would rush through the dressing process himself, as he had
never rushed before, and by some means he would manage to keep Johnson
Boller in his own room and out of sight of the corridor, until the
telltale closing of the door assured him that one of his life's most
painful episodes was over.

It had not been entirely without humor. Later on--much later on--Anthony
assured himself that he would have many a good laugh in private over the
youth upon whom he had tried to thrust opportunit