Mrs. Creamer's house was one of the great, new, brown-stone mansions which had been built within the past ten years upon "the avenue." It had cost a fortune. Within, it was so sumptuous that a special work has been "gotten up," printed, and published by subscription, of its "art treasures," furniture, and upholstery. Into this palatial residence--for flattery could not have called it a home--Keith was admitted, along with some hundreds of other guests. To-night it was filled with, not flowers exactly, but with floral decorations; for the roses and orchids were lost in the designs--garlands, circles, and banks formed of an infinite number of flowers. Mrs. Creamer, a large, handsome woman with good shoulders, stood just inside the great drawing-room. She was gorgeously attired and shone with diamonds until the eyes ached with her splendor. Behind her stood Mr. Creamer, looking generally mightily bored. Now and then he smiled and shook hands with the guests, at times drawing a friend out of the line back into the rear for a chat, then relapsing again into indifference or gloom. Keith was presented to Mrs. Creamer. She only nodded to him. Keith moved on. He soon discovered that a cordial greeting to a strange guest was no part of the convention in that society. One or two acquaintances spoke to him, but he was introduced to no one; so he sauntered about and entertained himself observing the people. The women were in their best, and it was good. Keith was passing from one room to another when he became aware that a man, who was standing quite still in the doorway, was, like himself, watching the crowd. His face was turned away; but something about the compact figure and firm chin was familiar to him. Keith moved to take a look at his face. It was Dave Dennison. He had a twinkle in his eye as he said: "Didn't expect to see me here?" "Didn't expect to see myself here," said Keith. "I'm one of the swells now"; and Dave glanced down at his expensive shirt-front and his evening suit with complacency. "Wouldn't Jake give a lot to have such a bosom as that? I think I look just as well as some of 'em?" he queried, with a glance about him. Keith thought so too. "You are dressed for the part," he said. Keith's look of interest inspired him to go on. "You see, 'tain't like 'tis down with us, where you know everybody, and everything about him, to the number of drinks he can carry." "Well, what do you do here?" asked Keith, who was trying to follow Mr. Dennison's calm eye as, from time to time, it swept the rooms, resting here and there on a face or following a hand. He was evidently not merely a guest. "Detective." "A detective!" exclaimed Keith.