Thursday evening, the third and last of the series, was after all the banner night of the great Kermess.  All the world of society was present and such wares as remained unsold in the booths were quickly auctioned off by several fashionable gentlemen with a talent for such brigandage.  Then, the national dances and songs having been given and received enthusiastically, a grand ball wound up the occasion in the merriest possible way.

Charlie Mershone was much in evidence this evening, as he had been before; but he took no active part in the proceedings and refrained from dancing, his pet amusement.  Diana observed that he made frequent trips downstairs, perhaps to the hotel offices.  No one paid any attention to his movements, except his cousin, and Miss Von Taer, watching him intently, decided that underneath his calm exterior lurked a great deal of suppressed excitement.

At last the crowd began to disperse.  Uncle John and the Major took Beth and Patsy away early, as soon as their booth was closed; but Louise stayed for a final waltz or two with Arthur.  She soon found, however, that the evening’s work and excitement had tired her, and asked to be taken home.

“I’ll go and get the limousine around,” said Arthur.  “That new chauffeur is a stupid fellow.  By the time you’ve managed in this jam to get your wraps I shall be ready.  Come down in the elevator and I’ll meet you at the Thirty-second street entrance.”

As he reached the street a man—­an ordinary servant, to judge from his appearance—­ran into him full tilt, and when they recoiled from the impact the fellow with a muttered curse raised his fist and struck young Weldon a powerful blow.  Reeling backward, a natural anger seized Arthur, who was inclined to be hot-headed, and he also struck out with his fists, never pausing to consider that the more dignified act would be to call the police.

The little spurt of fistcuffs was brief, but it gave Mershone, who stood in the shadow of the door-way near by, time to whisper to a police officer, who promptly seized the disputants and held them both in a firm grip.

“What’s all this?” he demanded, sternly.

“That drunken loafer assaulted me without cause” gasped Arthur, panting.

“It’s a lie!” retorted the man, calmly; “he struck me first.”

“Well, I arrest you both,” said the officer.

“Arrest!” cried Arthur, indignantly; “why, confound it, man, I’m—­”

“No talk!” was the stern command.  “Come along and keep quiet.”

As if the whole affair had been premeditated and prearranged a patrol wagon at that instant backed to the curb and in spite of Arthur Weldon’s loud protests he was thrust inside with his assailant and at once driven away at a rapid gait.

At the same moment a brown limousine drew up quietly before the entrance.

Louise, appearing in the doorway in her opera cloak, stood hesitating on the steps, peering into the street for Arthur.  A man in livery approached her.