Your meeting with Sergeant Chan.”

A startled expression crossed the detective’s face. “Good lord - you don’t mean he’s going to put that into print?”

“Why naturally. I supposed you knew -“

“I’m afraid I’m woefully ignorant of American customs. I thought that was merely a social function. I didn’t dream -“

“You mean you don’t want him to print it?” asked Barry Kirk, surprised.

Sir Frederic turned quickly to Charlie. “Good-by, Sergeant. This has been a real pleasure. I shall see you tonight -“

He hastily shook hands with Chan, and dragged the dazed Barry Kirk to the street. There he motioned for a taxi. “What paper was that young scoundrel representing?” he inquired.

“The Globe,” Kirk told him.

“The Globe office - and quickly, please,” Sir Frederic ordered.

The two got in, and for a moment rode in silence.

“You are curious, perhaps,” said Sir Frederic at last.

“I hope you won’t think it’s unnatural of me,” smiled Kirk.

“I know I can rely on your discretion, my boy. I told only a small part of the story of Eve Durand at luncheon, but even that must not reach print just yet. Not here - not now -“

“Great Scott. Do you mean -“

“I mean I am near the end of a long trail. Eve Durand was not murdered in India. She ran away. I know why she ran away. I even suspect the peculiar method of her going. More than that -“

“Yes?” cried Kirk eagerly.

“More than that I can not tell you at present.” The journey was continued in silence, and presently they drew up before the office of the Globe.

In the city editor’s cubby-hole, Bill Rankin was talking exultantly to his chief. “It’s going to be a corking good feature,” he was saying, when he felt a grip of steel on his arm. Turning, he looked into the face of Sir Frederic Bruce. “Why - why - hello,” he stammered.

“There has been a slight mistake,” said the detective.

“Let me explain,” suggested Barry Kirk. He shook hands with the editor and introduced Sir Frederic, who merely nodded, not relaxing his grip on the reporter’s paralyzed arm. “Rankin, this is unfortunate,” Kirk continued, “but it can’t be helped. Sir Frederic is unfamiliar with the ways of the American press, and he did not understand that you were gathering a story at lunch. He thought it a purely social affair. So we have come to ask that you print nothing of the conversation you heard this noon.”

Rankin’s face fell. “Not print it? Oh - I say -“

“We appeal to you both,” added Kirk to the editor.

“My answer must depend on your reason for making the request,” said that gentleman.

“My reason would be respected in England,” Sir Frederic told him. “Here, I don’t know your custom. But I may tell you that if you print any of that conversation, you will seriously impede the course of justice.”

The editor bowed. “Very well.