As Clifford went out it seemed to him, for the moment, that his efforts thus far had resulted only in bringing him into contact with affairs far removed from his main business. But the next moment experience reminded him that nothing in life was irrelevant. Might not these seemingly unrelated fragments be revealed as closely articulated parts of a great drama of life whose working-out lay in the unvisioned future? Anyhow, he had new questions to put to himself. What was behind Loveman’s suave statement that he knew nothing of Mary Regan? And what behind Bradley’s offer of partnership? They meant something: and the more Clifford thought, the more was he convinced that Loveman was in whatever business might be brewing; and since Loveman was in it, it was safely and adroitly based upon the weakness, vanity, or ambition of our common human nature. The sense, though he had little definite basis for it, that Mary was vitally concerned in this impenetrable business, that she was perhaps the chief victim of its hidden workings and of its dangers, grew in Clifford with every moment. He simply had to find her! Hoping against hope, Clifford daily expected a note from Mary Regan--for he could not wholly discount her promise--but no note came. And though Uncle George, Slant-Face, and Lieutenant Jimmie Kelly, in their divers manners, were all looking for Mary, none during the next four days reported a trace of her. Nor did Commissioner Thorne, with his larger resources, turn up a single clue. She seemed to have vanished utterly. All these days Clifford himself kept doggedly to the tedious routine of centering his personal endeavors upon Peter Loveman--following that dapper gentleman from home to office, to court-rooms, to restaurants on Broadway or the Avenue for his substitute for afternoon tea, to his home again to dress, then to the long evening’s schedule of pleasures--taking rest only during the periods when Loveman was held in court, or during the five hours between three and 8 A.M. that Loveman allowed himself for sleep. On the seventh afternoon, while Loveman was tied up in court, and while Clifford was spending an hour at home, a note was delivered him by messenger. It read:-- See me at headquarters at your earliest convenience. THORNE. Clifford considered. Then he sent back the message, “Will try to come at five.” It was now three o’clock; Loveman would be out of court at half-past three or four. He had decided that the best procedure was to follow Loveman from court to club or restaurant, and then if the lawyer seemed settled, as usually was the case, he could safely slip down to Police Headquarters.