A beautiful gray motor car drew up at the curb, and honked vigorously. The proprietor of the lunchroom, thinking that possibly the chauffeur wanted some sandwiches, left the cash register and crossed the pavement eagerly. Every eye in the restaurant was turned upon the glittering limousine, whose panels of dove-throat gray shone with a steely lustre. In a moment the proprietor returned with a large basket and a small folded paper, looking puzzled. He glanced about the room, and approached Bleak. "I guess you're the guy," he said, and handed the editor a note on which was scrawled in pencil TO THE MAN WITH A PENETRATING GAZE WHO HAS JUST SPILLED SOME SHRIMP SALAD ON HIS PALM BEACH TROUSERS Bleak, after removing the shrimp, opened the paper. Inside he read PLEASE BRING TWO DOZEN RYE-TONGUE SANDWICHES AND AS MUCH SHRIMP SALAD AS THE BASKET WILL HOLD. AM FAMISHED. QUIMBLETON. He looked at the restaurateur in surprise. "The lady said you were to get the grub and put it in this basket," said the latter. "The lady?" inquired Bleak. "The dame in the car," said Isidor, owner of the Busy Wasp Lunchroom. Bleak obeyed orders. He filled the basket with tongue sandwiches and a huge platter of shrimp salad, paid the check, and carried the burden to the door of the motor. At the wheel sat a damsel of extraordinary beauty. The massive proportions of the enormous car only accentuated the perfection of her streamline figure. Her chassis was admirable; she was upholstered in a sports suit of fawn-colored whipcord; and her sherry-brown eyes were unmodified by any dimming devices. Before Bleak could say anything she cried eagerly, "Get in, Mr. Bleak! I've been looking for you everywhere. What a happy moment this is!" Bleak handed in the basket. "Quimbleton--" he began. "I know," she said. "I'm taking you to him. Poor fellow, he is in great peril. Get in, please." By the time Bleak was in the seat beside her, the car was already in motion. "You have your passport?" she said, steering through the tangled traffic. "Yes," he said. He could not help stealing a sidelong glance at this bewitching creature. Her dainty and vivacious face, just now a trifle sunburnt, was fixed resolutely upon the vehicles ahead. On the rim of the big steering wheel her small gloved hands gave an impression of great capability. Bleak thought that her profile seemed oddly familiar. "Haven't I seen you before?" he said. "Very possibly. Your newspaper printed my picture the other day, with some rather uncomplimentary remarks." Bleak was nonplussed. "Very stupid of me," he said, "but I don't seem to recall--" "I am Miss Chuff," she said calmly. The editor's brain staggered. "Miss Theodolinda Chuff?" he said, in amazement. He recalled some satirical editorials the Balloon had printed concerning the activities of the Chuffs, and wondered if he were being kidnaped for court-martial by the Pan-Antis. Evidently the use of Quimbleton's name had been a ruse.