When I drifted down to dinner that evening, I missed him. I waited in the cocktail bar in vain. Nanette peeped in, too. At last, there was nothing for it but to dine alone. And constantly the blue eyes of Nanette, who had been “adopted” by a charming couple from the North Country, were turned in my direction. Always she smiled--but only to hide her disappointment. The cadet blew along in due course, flushed with excitement, and was greeted by a very composed Nanette. Accompanied by her temporary “parents,” she bore the young man away to the Casino. I made up my mind to walk down later. But I was largely concerned with the absence of O’Shea. I hung about until after nine o’clock and was prepared to go out, when I saw him crossing the lounge. He beckoned to me, and: “They are not idle, Decies,” he said. “Da Cunha’s radio has been busy.” “Have you picked anything up?” “No. Conditions in the town are bad. But there’s something afoot.” “Short of burglary, what can they do?” He stared at me vacantly; then: “I don’t know,” he confessed. But we were to learn--and very soon. A disturbance in the lobby proclaimed itself. “What’s the trouble?” said I. Even as I spoke, the worthy man from Lancashire, whose wife had taken Nanette under her wing, came hurrying in. He was pale. “My God! Decies,” he exclaimed. “Did you send a car to the Casino for Nanette?” “No!” I replied blankly. “Damn it! I suspected there was something wrong!” “Quick!” said O’Shea. “What has happened?” The other spoke very breathlessly. “Someone brought her a message--from _you_, Mr. Decies. She ran out without a word. Young Clayton, the cadet, ran after her.” “Well?” O’Shea urged. “When I got to the door, they told me that both had driven off in a car that was waiting by the gate.” “Did anyone actually see this car?” O’Shea demanded. “No. It stood out in the roadway.” “Then who brought the message?” “A boy idling at the gate.” “You questioned him?” “Closely,” replied the man from Lancashire. “He did not know the chauffeur and only had a glimpse of the car.” “But I don’t understand,” said I dazedly. “I followed,” the hoarse voice went on, “but just this side of the bridge, where it’s so lonely and dark at night, I nearly ran over Clayton! He was insensible. He’s out in the hallway now! Nanette--has disappeared!” Very deliberately, O’Shea adjusted his monocle. “Decies,” he said coldly, “why, in God’s name, didn’t you stick to your post?” CHAPTER XIV. THE PORTFOLIO Born leaders of men do not achieve leadership; men force it upon them. Here was a panic-stricken group, soon augmented by the manager and a doctor who chanced to be in the hotel. One was for communicating with the police; another urged the military; all were anxious to enlarge the news. We were in a room on the right of the entrance, the medical man bending over an insensible cadet. O’Shea quietly closed the door. And I have since remembered how instinctively we all turned and faced him.