“I suppose that is pointed at my namesake,” he commented, handing the paper back with an effort at nonchalance. “I hope he will come in for a good thing.” “So do I,” rejoined the editor, smiling inscrutably. “But wait till you hear the story. Last night, one of our reporters--Jarvis, you know him--was hobnobbing with a lot of variety people in one of the private rooms in Heddrigg’s restaurant. He swears he was sober, but you can draw your own conclusions as to that when I tell you that the company withdrew and left him alone without his knowing it.” “Sleepy, perhaps,” suggested Brant. “That is what he says. When he woke up he was alone, but the box beyond him was occupied by two men who were talking in whispers. Now Jarvis is a good fellow, but he is a reporter first, and everything else afterward, so of course he listened. The men were arguing about an ‘ad’ in the Leadville Herald, and Jarvis gathered that it boded ill for one of them, though he couldn’t tell which one. In the course of the talk your name was mentioned--oh, yes, it was you, because they spoke of your boarding place out in Welton Street,” Forsyth insisted, in rebuttal of Brant’s incredulous negative, “and Jarvis heard enough to make him think they meant to do you a mischief.” “One moment,” Brant interrupted. “What time of night was this?” “I don’t know exactly, but it was between twelve and two.” “All right. Go on.” “That is all. Only, as I say, Jarvis thinks they mean mischief, though he caught only a few words pointing to the necessity for haste in what they had to do. They seemed to be much afraid that you would see the ‘ad.’” Brant leaned forward to flick the ash from his cigar. “I presume Jarvis saw them when they went out. What did they look like?” “That is just where the otherwise irreproachable Jarvis fell down,” said the editor. “He posted himself conveniently behind the curtains of his box when they stirred, but unfortunately there is a back door to Heddrigg’s place, and they used it.” “Leaving the Herald behind them?” queried Brant. “Not much! But Jarvis went through the file and found the ‘ad’ after he came back here.” Brant smoked reflectively for a few minutes and then rose to go. “I am much obliged to you, Forsyth. It was good of you to give me the pointer.” The editor made an effort to detain him. “Don’t be in a hurry; the night is young.” “Yes, but I think I would better be going.” Forsyth tilted his chair and made a monocle of one side of his _pince nez_ through which to quiz his visitor. “Brant, you are most provokingly cold-blooded, don’t you know it? Here I have been at the trouble to put you in the way of opening up a veritable mine of first-class sensation, and you are going away without so much as giving me a squint down the shaft thereof. Do you call that giving a man a fair shake?” Brant sat down again. “What do you want me to say?” he asked.