“Down there is the biggest, busiest street in the world filled with women of all hues and shades.  This is the first time you ever looked so anxious about any combination of lace, curls, silks and gew-gaws before.  You have been the bright and shining example of indifferent bachelor freedom which has made me—­thrice divorced—­so envious of your unalloyed, unalimonied joy.  Don’t betray the feet of clay which have supported my idol!”

The baffling smile of the debonair club man returned to Shirley’s face, as he twitted back:  “Purely an altruistic inquiry, Dick.  I feared that you might be risking your own heart and the modicum of freedom which you still possess.  But I’ll wager a supper-party for four that I’ll find out who she is, without either you or she telling me.”

“Taken.  At last I’m to have a free banquet, after years of business entertaining.  You have met a girl who will match your wits—­I expect the sparks to fly.  Well, she’s worth while—­I might do worse—­but in perfect fairness she ought to do better.  How about it?”

“Yes, with Jack,” and Shirley tapped the walking stick on the floor with an emphatic thump, while Holloway regarded him in startled surprise.

“Who is Jack?”

“You see—­I am learning already.  But, you and I are drifting from my task.  I wish that you would take me to call on Miss Marigold, in my present lack of disguise.  I do not care for that ancient garb any longer.  It was stretching the chances rather far, but thanks to the darkness, the champagne, and good fortune, I succeeded in impersonating our aged friend without detection.  I will not return to Grimsby’s house, but propose now to get down to brass tacks with Mr. Voice, even though the tacks be hard to sit upon.  I wish to use her as a bait, by taking her out to tea and getting a first-hand speaking acquaintance with these convivial assassins.”

“Monty, you are wasting your talents outside the pages of a play manuscript, but we will make that call instanter.”

In leisure, they promenaded up the crowded Gay Wide Way, through the noontime crowd of theatrical folk who dot the thoroughfare in this part of the city.  His adversaries were to have every opportunity to observe his movements and draw their own conclusions.  At the Hotel California new comment buzzed between the garrulous clerk and the switchboard person, at sight of the well-known manager and his prosperous-looking companion.

“Who is that come on?” asked the clerk of the bellboy.

“Sure, dat’s Montague Shirley, one of dem rich ginks from de College Club on Forty-fourth Street, where I used to woik in de check room.  If I had dat guy’s money I’d buy a hotel like dis.”

“Then I see where Holloway, with that blonde dame upstairs, will be putting on a new musical show, with a new angel.  It’s a great business, Miss Gwendolyn—­no wonder they call it art.”  And the clerk removed a silk handkerchief from his coat cuff, to dust the register wistfully.  “Why didn’t I devote my talents to the drama instead of room-keys and due-bills?”