ly he ignored the fact, that all the time Mr. Raymond
Greene was staring in his face with a bewilderment which was not without
its humorous side. He was too much a man of the world, this great picture
producer, to be at a loss for words, to receive an introduction with any
degree of clumsiness.

"But surely," he almost stammered, "we have met before?"

Philip shook his head doubtfully.

"I don't think so," he said, "As a matter of fact, I am sure we haven't,
because you are one of the men whom I hoped some day to come across over
here. I couldn't possibly have forgotten a meeting with you."

Mr. Raymond Greene's blue eyes looked as though they saw visions.

"But surely," he expostulated, "the _Elletania_--my table on the
_Elletania_, when Miss Dalstan crossed--"

Philip laughed easily.

"Why," he exclaimed, "are you going to be like the others and take me
for--wasn't it Mr. Romilly?--the man who disappeared from the Waldorf?
Why, I've been tracked all round New York because of my likeness to that
man."

"Likeness!" Mr. Raymond Greene muttered. "Likeness!"

There was a moment's silence. Then Mr. Greene knew that the time had
arrived for him to pull himself together. He had carried his bewilderment
to the very limits of good breeding.

"Well, well!" he continued. "Fortunately, it's six o'clock, and I can
offer you gentlemen a cocktail, for upon my word I need it! Come to look
at you, Mr. Ware, there's a trifle more what I might term _savoir faire_,
about you. That chap on the boat was a little crude in places, but
believe me, sir," he went on, thrusting his arm through Ware's and
leading him towards the bar, "you don't want to be annoyed at those
people who have mistaken you for Romilly, for in the whole course of my
life, and I've travelled round the world a pretty good deal, I never came
across a likeness so entirely extraordinary."

"I have heard other people mention it," Noel Bridges intervened,
"although not quite with the same conviction as you, Mr. Greene.
Curiously enough, however, the photograph of Romilly which they sent out
from England, and which was in all the Sunday papers, didn't strike me as
being particularly like Mr. Ware."

"It was a damned bad photograph, that," Mr. Raymond Greene pronounced. "I
saw it--couldn't make head nor tail of it, myself. Well, the world is
full of queer surprises, but this is the queerest I ever ran up against.
Believe me, Mr. Ware, if this man Romilly who disappe