It was little that Mr. Morton had told Clifford, yet, after Morton had left him, that little set Clifford’s mind going like a racer. He sat thinking--thinking; and after a time he began to perceive dim outlines of what Loveman’s plan might be. And as with growing excitement he began to see, he began also to consider what his own course should be.... He looked at his watch. It was half-past three. He started back for the Gold Room, but on the way up he saw Loveman and his party leaving. He quickly secured his coat and hat and followed them out just in time to see Loveman go off in a taxi with Nina Cordova. He was after them in another taxi, a discreet block behind. Five minutes later Loveman set Miss Cordova down at her hotel, and went on to his own home. Clifford dismissed his taxi, waited ten minutes, then crossed and entered Loveman’s apartment house. CHAPTER VIII IN LOVEMAN’S LIBRARY The drowsy elevator boy carried Clifford to the eleventh floor, and Clifford rang Loveman’s bell. After a moment the door was opened by Loveman’s Japanese butler, to whom Clifford, after stepping in, gave his card. The little Oriental, showing no slightest surprise at a call at such an hour, disappeared noiselessly through a door; and reappeared after a brief delay and held the door open as a sign that Clifford was to enter. Clifford stepped through the doorway and found himself in the large richly furnished library of Peter Loveman. Loveman, in a rope-girdled dressing-gown and with his tonsured head looking very much a jolly little monk, crossed the room with smiling hospitality. In a deep, tapestried chair, wearing a dinner jacket, sat the square figure of Bradley. “This is a surprise, Clifford!” cried Loveman, taking his hand. “And a pleasure, too,--also a relief: dropping in on a pair of grouches, just as they were getting ready to murder each other to drive dull care away. You there, you other grouch,”--to Bradley,--“say good-evening to our relief expedition.” Bradley, without rising, nodded curtly. Clifford gave back a similar greeting. “Off with your overcoat, Clifford,” the little man said briskly, “and make yourself comfortable.” “I’ll keep it on, Loveman. I can only stay a few minutes.” “Well, anyhow, sit down,” and Loveman pushed him into a chair and gestured toward a little table on which stood bottles and glasses and siphons. “All the ingredients here of the Fountain of Perpetual Youth: what’ll you have--high-ball, cocktail, liqueur--or shall I have Oni bring you a split of champagne?” “Thanks, I’m not drinking to-night.” “Smoke, then?” offering cigars and cigarettes. “No, thank you.” “Say, you’re making a host look dam’ inhospitable,” humorously complained the little man. “How about a little whist? I’ll run the dummy. Bradley there loves it: he’s acting vice-chairman of the Daughters of Brooklyn Memorial and Bridge Associ--” “Cut it out!” growled Bradley. “Ask him what he wants.”