The romance was rather gone from our meeting."

"What was Landini doing at the Tavern?' Ward inquired.

"I gathered she was a friend of Dinsdale, and had just driven over for dinner. She's not stopping there, of course--she's served four weeks of her cure at Reno, and she's not staying out of the state more than a few hours. Naturally, I didn't linger. I hurried away." He looked about the group. "But pardon me. I didn't mean to monopolize the conversation."

"It was Ellen who was doing that," smiled Dudley Ward, "not you. Up to her old tricks again. Dinner, gentlemen, is at seven. In the meantime, Sing will show you to your various rooms, though I'm afraid you'll have to sort out your own baggage in the upper hall. Doctor Swan, I've assigned you a room, even though, to my regret, you're not staying the night. Ah Sing--where is the old rascal?"

The servant appeared, and led the procession above.

Ward laid a hand on Charlie Chan's arm. "At a quarter to seven, in my study up-stairs at the front of the house," he said softly. "For just a few minutes."

Chan nodded.

"One more thing, gentlemen," Ward called. "No one need dress. This is strictly stag, of course."

He stood and watched them disappear, an ironical smile on his face.

Presently Charlie entered a warm and pleasant bedroom, meekly following Ah Sing. The old man turned on the lights, set down Chan's bags, then looked up at his compatriot from Honolulu. His face was lean and the color of a lemon that has withered, his shoulders were hunched and bent. His eyes alone betrayed his race; and in them Chan detected an authentic gleam of humor.

"P'liceman?" said Ah Sing.

Charlie admitted it, with a smile.

"Some people say plitty wise man?" continued Sing. "Maybe."

"Maybe," agreed Charlie.

Sing nodded sagely, and went out.

Charlie stepped to the window, and looked down an aisle of tall pines at snow-covered hills and a bit of wintry sky. The novelty of this scene so engrossed him that he was three minutes late for his appointment with his host in the study.

"That's all right," Dudley Ward said, when Chan apologized. "I'm not going over the whole business here--I'll have to do it anyhow at the table. I just want to say I'm glad you've come, and I hope you'll be able to help me."

"I shall extend myself to utmost," Charlie assured him.

"It's rather a small matter for a man of your talents," Ward went on. He was sitting behind a broad desk, over which an alabaster lamp cast its glow. "But I can assure you it's important to me. I got you in here just to make sure you know why I invited these three men up here tonight--but now I've done it, I realize I must be insulting your intelligence."

Chan smiled. "On second thoughts, you changed original plan?"

"Yes. I thought when I wrote you, I'd just get in touch with them by letter. But that's a terribly unsatisfactory way of dealing with things--at least, I've always thought so. I like to see a man's face when I'm asking him questions. Then I heard this Romano was in San Francisco, and broke--I knew money would bring him here.