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 was developing under his eyes. As he sat there, sticking to the plush of his chair, listening to the ridiculous chatter of the marble clock, staring into the Wardour Street Puritans of "When did you see father last?" he felt urgency beating in upon them both. A shabby waiter looked in upon them, received his order and departed.

Dunbar suddenly plunged. "Look here, I know I can trust you, I'm sure of it. And she trusted you, so that should be enough for me. But—would you mind—telling me exactly how it happened that you got this message?"

"Certainly," Harkness said. "I"

"Wait," Dunbar interrupted, "forgive me, but drop your voice, will you? One doesn't know who's hanging round here."

They drew their chairs closer together and Harkness, sitting forward, continued. "I had dressed for dinner early. A friend of mine in London had told me that there was a little old room at the top of the hotel that was well worth seeing. I guess, like most Americans, I care for old-fashioned things, so I got to the top of the house and found the room. I was up in a little gallery at the back when two people came in, a man and a girl. They began to talk before I could move or let them know I was there. It was all too quick for me to do anything. The girl begged the man, to whom she was apparently married, to let her go home for