THE next day Kenyon had his belongings, which he had now generously added to, removed to a hotel some distance up town. “It has not the flare of the Waldorf,” he told himself, as he sat down to dinner, “and it’s not nearly so expensive. But it will do.” He was still pondering over the menu when who should enter the café but Webster. “Oh, I say, but this is luck,” exclaimed that young person, dumping himself into a chair at the opposite side of the table. “I got your notice of removal about an hour ago, while I was deep in the selecting of a menu for a tight old wax that I hoped to land for a good order. But right on top of your message came a ’phone call from him saying that he couldn’t keep the dinner appointment after all. So I dressed and hurried over here for a bite.” “It couldn’t have happened better,” said Kenyon. “Because I want to discuss a few things with you, rather badly.” He gave the man, who stood at his side, a carefully selected and rather elaborate list of dishes; then he turned to his friend once more. “Last night,” said he, slowly, “I was a witness to what Captain Marryat once fascinatingly called ‘a most desperate and bloody murder.’” “Heavens!” ejaculated Webster, staring at him. “Where?” “In a Chinese den on the lower East Side.” “After you left me?” “Of course.” Webster leaned back in his chair and wagged his head from side to side. “What you need,” stated he, impressively, “is to have someone legally appointed to look after you. The first thing you know, you’ll be given an acting part in one of these little dramas that you appear to have grown so fond of; and then we’ll have to gather you up carefully with a rake.” Kenyon nodded, humorously. “Do you know,” said he, “I’d been thinking along that line. It’s one of the logical resultants, I suppose; but then we all must take our chances, you see.” “Is there another story?” asked Webster. “Not exactly. Rather, a continuation of the same one.” “All the better. If there are no restrictions such as the surgeon labored under last night, I’d like to hear it.” In a low voice and in as few words as possible Kenyon related his experiences of the preceding night, while Garry listened in silence. When he had finished, the young man from Chicago murmured, helplessly. “Well, this is a wonderful world, to be sure! And there are astonishing things happening in it. It would have been a great deal better for the unknown from Butte if he had remained comfortably in his cot at Bellevue and allowed them to doctor at him. Do you know,” after a pause, “I should like to get a peep at your friend Hong Yo. He must be an exceedingly interesting person.” “He is,” replied Kenyon. “But he is nothing like as interesting as some of the others.” “The girl, for example.” Webster pursed up his lips disapprovingly. “Well,” reluctantly, “I must admit that later information seems to indicate that she is not sitting in this game as a partner.”