At last, rousing himself from his dreaming--for he was now back in his club again, sipping a cup of tea--he glanced at his watch. Five o'clock--a likely hour to find Mr. Vanrenen in the hotel, if, as was most probable, Devar's telegram to his mother was altogether mistaken in its report of the millionaire's movements. He meant, of course, to make himself known to Vanrenen, and go through the whole adventure from A to Z. It should provide an interesting story, he thought--lively as a novel in some of its chapters, and calculated to appeal strongly to the bright intelligence of an American. On his way to the Savoy, he tried to picture to himself just what Cynthia's father would look like. It was a futile endeavor, because he had never yet been able to construct a mental portrait of any man wholly unknown to him. One day in Madras he had telephoned to an official for leave to shoot an elephant in a Government reservation, and a deep voice boomed back an answer. Apparently it belonged to a man whose stature warranted his appointment as controller of monsters, but when Medenham called in person for the permit he found that the voice came from a lean and wizened scrap of humanity about five feet high. He smiled at the recollection of his dumb surprise at this apparition, and was in the best of humors with himself when he arrived at the inquiry office of the Savoy Hotel and asked for Mr. Peter Vanrenen. "Left here Sunday, sir," was the answer. "He will not return for a week." This blow dished his hopes. He had counted strongly on gaining Vanrenen's friendship and sympathy before Cynthia's dainty vision met his eyes again. "Has he gone to Paris?" he inquired. "Can't say, sir, I'm sure. My orders are to tell callers that Mr. Vanrenen will be in town next Tuesday." So, if present arrangements held good, Cynthia would reach London two days before her father. Well, he must contrive somehow to get Lady St. Maur in a proper frame of mind. Mrs. Leland's presence would be a positive blessing in that respect. Meanwhile, there would be no harm done if he---- Lest prudence should conquer him a second time he sat down and wrote: DEAR MISS VANRENEN--I hope the car is behaving in a manner that befits the messenger of the gods, and that Dale has justified my faith in him. I am here in fulfillment of my promise to call on Mr. Vanrenen: unluckily, he is out of town, and the hotel people say he is not expected back till a day early next week. If you make any change in your programme, or even if you have a minute to spare, though proving yourself a true American by rigidly adhering to schedule, please send a line to yours ever sincerely---- Once more he hesitated at the name, and contented himself by signing "George, the Chauffeur."