It was after four that afternoon when Harold Vreeland, plainly dressed, sauntered into the rear entrance of the “Circassia,” and sought the rooms of August Helms, the janitor. He was only waiting for the final sale of a soul and to hear the full story of Justine. The cold relegation to his routine duties at the office, and Mrs. Willoughby’s message, had now cut off all hopes of a nearer social approach. “I must be very careful,” he mused. “These fellows down here are all on the watch; and if Elaine abandons me, I am half stranded with my winter’s extravagance and, my poor fifteen thousand dollars will not go very far. But, Garston counsels me to keep cool, to play my old game, and to post him. He must now give me his open aid, and Elaine may not then dare to thrust me out. “And if I married Katharine Norreys, that would be the fairest reason for a transference into Senator Garston’s camp. “He must give me his entire business in stocks.” He had quietly dropped into his old business routine, and the waxen mask of his face was unruffled even before Wyman and Noel Endicott, his foes in ambush. He had in some dim way realized that Elaine Willoughby had only used him as a lever to crush the dead favorite, Hathorn. And he began now to fear her variable nature. “I do not dare to accuse her,” he growled, “for Alida’s visits were a treason to my trust. Does she know of them?” He breathed freer at the rumors of the approaching marriage of the golden-hearted Potter with the woman who was his natural mate. “That will keep her mouth shut forever, for her own sake!” meanly exulted Vreeland. When Justine glided into the dark back room of the janitor, her excited lover cut short all tenderness. “Tell me, for God’s sake, all you know! We can make an appointment for South Fifth Avenue afterwards.” He had brought a roll of crisp bills to stimulate Justine’s memory, and when he slipped away half an hour later, his heart was throbbing wildly. He was armed at all points now. In his mean egoism, he saw the storm lowering only over Justine’s head. “Bah! they will merely chase her over to Paris; a few thousand will close her mouth there. “And I can surely afford it, when I marry Katharine Norreys, a millionairess _in posse_!” He went directly to the Savoy Hotel, after sending up a beautiful corbeille of flowers. His mind was made up at last. “Justine is all right. She dare not talk. And they will seal her lips and send her out of America.” He laughed lightly. “My capricious employer! You are only playing my game for me. For I should not care to have Justine Duprez as a bridesmaid. It will be well to have her out of the way. Garston might use his sly arts on her.” Lulled by his mean selfishness he forgot all his own risks, in believing the now half-desperate maid to be the single object of suspicion.