Uncle George heaved himself to his feet. “Come on, son, see me safe aboard a taxi.” Outside, in the cab, he reached forth and laid a hand on Clifford’s shoulder. “Remember, son, there’s just as good mermaids in the sea as have ever been caught.” “_Bon voyage_,” said Clifford as the car started. The old man, winking a genial, satyr-like wink, blew Clifford a kiss through the open window. At half-past ten that night Clifford sat at a little table in the Gold Room at the Grantham. There had come a message from Uncle George that he should be in this room at this hour. Beyond this the message had said nothing. Clifford had wandered through the score of big public rooms that comprised the first two floors of the Grantham--the lounges, the parlors, the half-dozen restaurants--with the feverish hope that he might glimpse Mary Regan (so little effect had Uncle George’s wisdom had upon him!), but with no idea of what he should do or say should he see her. He had had an impulse to call again at her suite, but had restrained himself from that folly. He now glanced through the slowly filling Gold Room, but he did not sight her. He wondered just where she was--what she was thinking of--what she was planning. Should he, if all other methods failed, block her worldly plans and the as yet unpenetrated scheme of Loveman and Bradley by telling the Mortons who she was? He felt himself a cad whenever he thought of it; but, yes, if he had to, he would do it!... A hand fell upon his shoulder. “Wake up there, you old crystal-gazer!” called a cheerful voice. Clifford looked up. Smiling down on him was a cherubic face: a somewhat elderly cherub, to be sure, since where usually there is the adornment of divine curls there was the glaze of baldness. “Sit down, Loveman, and join me in a drink.” “I’m afraid of you, my boy,” answered the famous little lawyer. “You might put poison in my cup.” “Why?” “Because I lied to you--you see, I’m not waiting to be accused,” the other smiled affably. “I told you I didn’t know where Mary Regan was, and after that you followed me and I led you right to her. She telephoned me about your finding her. You sure caught me dead to rights.” “I’m afraid I can’t do anything with you, Loveman,--though that was the second fib you told me about her.” “Both gentleman’s lies--told for a lady’s sake,” amiably explained Loveman. “She didn’t want her whereabouts known. But now that you’ve found her, what’re you going to do?” “I don’t know that I can do anything.” And then Clifford chanced a shot. “You see, I learned that she is secretly engaged to Jack Morton.” “You don’t say!” exclaimed the little man. “That is astounding! Well, well--I’ll have a look into that and see what’s to be done.” He rubbed his shining crown in bewildered thoughtfulness,--Clifford had to admire his art as an actor,--then again was smiling.