"If Hare gets his chance to-night," he meditated out loud, "you can rely on him to make the most of it. He'll make good; he's a man, sound in wind and limb, head and heart. I do wish, though, he wasn't so--somehow innocent--so easy--so confoundedly affable and handshaking with everybody that comes along. There's a sneaky-looking stranger at the hotel--rubber-heeled fellow named Higginson, with one of these black felt hats pulled down over his eyes like a stage villain--that Hare never laid eyes on till to-day. For all he knows the man may be an agent of Ryan's, a hired spy imported to--By Jove! That's just what he is, I'll bet!" he cried suddenly; and after a frowning pause, hurried warmly on: "Don't you remember last night, just after we hit the town, I said there was a man following us--sneaked up the alley when he saw me looking at him?" "I believe I do, Peter. But the fact is that I met so many exciting people last night--" "It's the same man--it was Higginson!" said Peter positively. "I'm sure of it! I didn't get a look at his face last night, but it's the same hat, same figure--everything. I'll bet anything he's on Ryan's payroll; and there's little Hare hobnobbing with him as friendly as though they'd been classmates at college! That kind of free-for-all geniality doesn't go, you know! A reformer in a rotten town like this," said Peter vehemently "would do well to cultivate a profound distrust of strangers." Varney burst out laughing. "You yourself have known Hare from the cradle, I believe?" "I'm different," said Peter without a smile. "Well! I must move. Now let's see--that lunch. What time shall I ask Hare and Mrs. Marne for?" "Two o'clock, Thursday. I didn't have the nerve," Varney explained, "to ask Miss Carstairs for to-day--rather lucky I didn't--and she was engaged for Thursday." "Right. I'll arrange it all. Well, for the Lord's sake take care of yourself to-night, Larry, and trust me to keep out of trouble. So long." Varney looked after Peter's disappearing back, and envied him all the fun he was having. His own lot was certainly far less entertaining. However, it was his own; and here he resembled his friend in one respect at least. His thoughts, like Peter's, had a way just now of reverting at short notice to the matters in which he himself was most closely concerned. He lay back idly among the cushions, and let his mind once more run over the unexpected problems of his situation. The new graveness of what he was pledged to do had, of course, been strongly present in his mind from the first moment of revelation. Kidnapping a nineteen-year-old girl was certainly, as Peter had pointed out, a pretty serious business. He perceived that it would not look well in the papers in the least. Also if she cared to raise a row afterwards, there might be an aftermath which would not be wholly a laughing matter.