We’ll be there. I - I won’t keep you any longer.”

Paradise came forward with alacrity to let him out. At the foot of the stairs on the twentieth floor he met his old rival, Gleason of the Herald. He chuckled with delight.

“Turn right around,” he said. “You’re too late. I thought of it first.”

“Thought of what?” asked Gleason, with assumed innocence.

“I’m getting Sir Frederic and Charlie Chan together, and the idea’s copyrighted. Lay off.”

Gloomily Mr. Gleason turned about, and accompanied Bill Rankin to the elevators. As they waited for the car, the girl in the green dress emerged from the office of the Calcutta Importers and joined them. They rode down together. The girl’s tears had vanished, and had happily left no trace. Blue eyes - that completed the picture. A charming picture. Mr. Gleason was also showing signs of interest.

In the street Gleason spoke. “I never thought of it until dinner,” he said sourly.

“With me, my career comes first,” Rankin responded. “Did you finish your dinner?”

“I did, worse luck. Well, I hope you get a whale of a story - a knock-out, a classic.”

“Thanks, old man.”

“And I hope you can’t print one damn word of it.” Rankin did not reply as his friend hurried off into the dusk. He was watching the girl in the green dress disappear up California Street. Why had she left the presence of Sir Frederick Bruce to weep outside that office door? What had Sir Frederic said to her? Might ask Sir Frederic about it tomorrow. He laughed mirthlessly. He saw himself - or any other man - prying into the private affairs of Sir Frederic Bruce.

CHAPTER II

What Happened to Eve Durand?


THE next day at one Sir Frederic Bruce stood in the lobby of the St. Francis, a commanding figure in a gray tweed suit. By his side, as immaculate as his guest, stood Barry Kirk, looking out on the busy scene with the amused tolerance befitting a young man of vast leisure and not a care in the world. Kirk hung his stick on his arm, and took a letter from his pocket.

“By the way, I had this note from J. V. Morrow in the morning’s mail,” he said. “Thanks me very politely for my invitation, and says that I’ll know him when he shows up because he’ll be wearing a green hat. One of those green plush hats, I suppose. Hardly the sort of thing I’d put on my head if I were a deputy district attorney.”

Sir Frederic did not reply.