The great Hector Strong, lord of journalism and swayer of empires, paced the floor of his luxurious apartment with bowed head, his corrugated countenance furrowed with lines of anxiety. He had just returned from a lunch with all his favourite advertisers ... but it was not this which troubled him. He was thinking out a new policy for _The Daily Vane_. Suddenly he remembered something. Coming up to town in his third motor, he had glanced through the nineteen periodicals which his house had published that morning, and in one case had noted matter for serious criticism. This was obviously the first business he must deal with. He seated himself at his desk and pushed the bell marked "38." Instantly a footman presented himself with a tray of sandwiches. "What do you want?" said Strong coldly. "You rang for me, Sir," replied the trembling menial. "Go away," said Strong. Recognising magnanimously, however, that the mistake was his own, he pressed bell "28." In another moment the editor of _Sloppy Chunks_ was before him. "In to-day's number," said Strong, as he toyed with a blue pencil, "you apologise for a mistake in last week's number." He waited sternly. "It was a very bad mistake, Sir, I'm afraid. We did a great injustice to----" "You know my rule," said Strong. "The mistake of last week I could have overlooked. The apology of this week is a more serious matter. You will ask for a month's salary on your way out." He pressed a button and the editor disappeared through the trap-door. Alone again, Hector Strong thought keenly for a moment. Then he pressed bell "38." Instantly a footman presented himself with a tray of sandwiches. "What do you mean by this?" roared Strong, his iron self-control for a moment giving way. "I b-beg your pardon, Sir," stammered the man. "I th-thought----" "Get out!" As the footman retired, Strong passed his hand across his forehead. "My memory is bad to-day," he murmured, and pushed bell "48." A tall, thin man entered. "Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Brownlow," said the Proprietor. He toyed with his blue pencil. "Let me see, which of our papers are under your charge at the moment?" Mr. Brownlow reflected. "Just now," he said, "I am editing _Snippety Snips_, _The Whoop_, _The Girls' Own Aunt_, _Parings_, _The Sunday Sermon_, _Slosh_ and _Back Chat_." "Ah! Well, I want you to take on _Sloppy Chunks_, too, for a little while. Mr. Symes has had to leave us." "Yes, Sir." Mr. Brownlow bowed and moved to the door. "By the way," Strong said, "your last number of _Slosh_ was very good. Very good indeed. I congratulate you. Good day." Left alone, Hector Strong, lord of journalism and swayer of empires, resumed his pacings. His two mistakes with the bell told him that he was distinctly not himself this afternoon. Was it only the need of a new policy for _The Vane_ which troubled him? Or was it---- Could it be Lady Dorothy?