“She’s more likely to be a victim of some sort. And they are afraid of her.” “A nasty state of affairs. For people like those to be in fear of anyone is for that person to make a quick exit. But the supposed knowledge of the great unknown as to her existence seems to be a most effectual barrier in this case. I wonder why?” “I wonder.” By this time the dinner was well under way and both young men were doing justice to it. “But,” continued Kenyon, “I can’t for the life of me make out Forrester’s position. He talked of me supplanting him. He seems to have been, at one time, in almost complete control of the game they are engaged in. And yet, as I told you, he is one of the most frankly honest men in appearance that I have ever set eyes on. I can’t help classing him with the others; but still--” “His coming to the rescue of the girl, so to speak,” said Webster, “is a point in his favor. And her going with him so readily is another. I think it is also to his credit that this man Farbush does not approve of him.” “But Hong Yo does; what do you make of that?” “I’m stumped. The whole thing is as puzzling as it was at the first.” “There is one small matter that has a peculiar fascination for me,” stated Kenyon, as he trifled with his dessert. “And that is the private safe of Farbush.” “That’s so!” exclaimed Webster. “That little point slipped me. But what do you suppose is in it?” “I haven’t the faintest idea. But Farbush seemed startled at the girl’s having any knowledge of it. I’m inclined to think that if we had the contents of that safe on this table between us for a half hour we would have little guessing to do afterwards.” “By Jove, Ken,” laughed Webster, “do you know I’d almost expect you to venture a burglary if you knew exactly where to head the enterprise. You’ve got it in your eye.” Kenyon looked at his friend with a sudden smile. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “But, now that you mention it, I’ll give it consideration.” “Well, if you take on the job,” said Webster, tickled with the conceit, “let me know, will you, I’d like to go with you.” Webster had a theatre party on for the night, and as the time drew near for his departure he urged Kenyon to go along. But the latter refused. “I’ve got some thinking to do,” said he, “and I’m going to take a half-dozen cigars out with me for a walk. So trot along, old fellow; I’ll see you to-morrow night, perhaps.” Madison Square is not much frequented during the chilly nights of late November, so Kenyon, muffled up in his overcoat, tramped up and down, drawing hard at a strong cigar and thinking deeply. At the end of the cigar he suddenly paused as though his mind had been made up to something. “Perhaps they’ll know at the hotel,” he muttered. “It will do no harm to inquire, at any rate.” He strode along up Fifth Avenue and turned into the Waldorf-Astoria. One of the hotel’s private policemen saluted him in the lobby, and Kenyon called him aside.