... It was now noon. He thought of his old friend, Broadwell, of the advertising-desk at Lot & Company. Perhaps Broadwell would dine with him. He called. The voice came back to him.... Yes, he would come at once. Bellair asked him to the hotel. In the interval he called the Trust company in whose keeping the thousand dollar surety had been, inquiring if Lot & Company had collected the amount. The answer was returned presently to the effect that Lot & Company had presented his release and collected the amount with interest four days after his departure. Bellair hearkened to a faint singing somewhere within and found it had to do with Bessie. He called Brandt’s and ascertained that the same quartette was to sing there at nine in the evening. This was also one of the things he had come to do. Broadwell was a trifle late, but all urbanity. There was something of the salesman’s manner and enunciation about him. Bellair fell away after the greeting, caught in a sort of mental flurry in which the picture of another luncheon engagement recurred to his mind--the day he had passed the desk and cage of Mr. Sproxley with the stranger named Filbrick, and his own telling of the cashier’s passionate honour.... When he came back to see clearly the face of Broadwell, he found that he personally was being scrutinised with odd intensity. Could it be that Broadwell had something more than a personal friendly interest? His questions did not seem adroit, and yet he wanted to know so much--of the ship, of Auckland, but especially of this long drive back to New York. “Are you stopping here?” he asked. “Yes. My old room was just opposite, but I was told that the house was full.” “So you came here?” “Yes.” “And are you going to stay in New York?” “I don’t know, Ben. There are a few things to see to.” “Are you looking for a job?” “Well, no. Not exactly, at least.” Try as he might, Bellair could not feel free, as of old time. He felt the other wanted something, and this checked his every offering. He knew that Broadwell, at least six months before, could not have believed ill of Lot & Company, and there was no apparent change. The disclosure of the press must have righted itself in the office so far as he, Bellair, was concerned; surely Broadwell did not share the dread of him the landlady had shown; and yet, it was hard to broach these things. The advertising-man apparently had no intention of doing so. “We’ve all missed you on the lower floor,” he said. “Are there any changes?” “Very few.” “Who took my place?” “Man from outside. Mr. Rawter brought in the man--middle-aged. Mr. Sproxley knew him, too.”