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 able to get to his room without being seen. Better stop the car well down the street. Don't try to get back before midnight, either. Better give folks here a chance to get to sleep. And, Wattles."

"Yes, sir." Wattles had taken an overcoat from the closet, and now, his black derby in hand, he stood rigidly at attention, his long countenance even more than usually solemn.

"It will be worth five dollars extra to the man who drives you if he forgets all about it by to-morrow."

"So I was thinking, Mister Loring. There's a fellow works in the garage who has a car of his own, sir, and as we've struck up a bit of an acquaintance, sir, I fancy he would be quite the chap for the—er—undertaking."

"Good! Better put this memorandum of the trains in your pocket. Got the money?"

Wattles tapped the inside pocket of his coat.

"Then go to it! I'll expect you back about midnight. Good luck, Wattles!"

"Thank you, sir." Wattles reached the door and paused, a hand on the knob. "You understand, Mister Loring, I am doing this with the understanding you're not to leave the chair until I get back, sir."

"Oh, absolutely, Wattles! Cross my heart. You'll find me right here. I may be asleep, but I'll stick to the jolly old chair!"

"Thank you, sir," said Wattles again. Then the door closed behind him, and Loring, chuckling, looked at his watch.