Kathleen scanned him keenly. Could she place faith in his sincerity? As she met the penetrating glance she knew of old, now softened by the fascination of his winning smile, she came again under the old personal charm. "I cannot be friends with a man whom I do not respect," she stammered. "But you shall respect me," with dogged determination, "and then...." A bevy of girls, coming out of Galt's, paused to greet Kathleen, and Miller, not waiting to complete his sentence, bowed to her and continued up the Avenue. He paid no attention to the streets he traversed, but on turning into F Street sought shelter near a shop to light his cigarette. As he threw the burnt match to the pavement he was attracted by a large photograph of Kathleen Whitney in the window. It was an excellent likeness, and Miller, studying the clear-cut features, the lovely eyes, and soft rippling hair, felt his heart throb. He glanced at the sign above the window and found he was standing before Edmonston's Photographic Studio. On impulse he entered the building. Miller's absorption in Kathleen's photograph had not gone unnoticed, and when he emerged from the studio, the observer accosted him. "Beg pardon, sir, I'm Henry, Mr. Whitney's chauffeur," he said. "Mr. Spencer, sir, was much put out to wake up this morning, sir, and find himself in a strange hotel." "Better that than being registered 'drunk and disorderly,'" smiled Miller. "Yes, Captain Miller. I told him, sir, that you had done him a service." "Ah, indeed? May I ask how you know who I am?" "I made out you'd have trouble with Mr. Spencer, sir, and as soon as I'd left Miss Kathleen at home, sir, I ran the car back down by the park, sir, just in time to see you leading Mr. Spencer into the hotel. The doorman there gave me your name, sir." "I see," replied Miller thoughtfully. "I lunched with Mr. Whitney today, and it was mentioned that you had not shown up," and his eyes were guilty of a peculiar glint as he scrutinized the intelligent face and finely proportioned figure of the chauffeur. Henry reddened. "I wasn't feeling very well in the night, sir, and overslept," he explained. "Eh, Captain," as Miller turned away. "I saw you looking, sir, at Miss Kathleen's picture. Did you get a copy in Edmonston's?" "No," curtly. "I thought not, sir. They never part with their photographs in there, sir. But there's an extra one in Mr. Whitney's library, sir, which I could ... could...." he stopped abruptly as he met Miller's gaze. After a pause Miller slipped his hand into his pocket and on pulling it out disclosed a gold coin lying in his bare palm. "I see you are amenable to reason, Henry," he said serenely, and the chauffeur stammered his thanks. CHAPTER VII PHANTOM WIRES