Our conversation was brought to an abrupt ending, as Mr. Horsfal had to make a short call at one of the newspaper offices, on some business matter. We got out of the tram together. I waited for him while he made his call, then we walked back leisurely to the hotel; happy, pleasantly tired and hungry as hunters. I was regaled in the dining-room as the guest of my American friend. "Are you going to be in for the balance of the evening?" he asked, as I rose to leave him at the conclusion of our after-dinner smoke. "Yes!" "Good!" he ejaculated, rather abruptly. And why he should have thought it "good," puzzled me not a little as I went up in the elevator. CHAPTER VIII Golden Crescent I had been sitting in my room for two hours, reading, and once in a while, thinking over the strange adventures that had befallen me since I had started out from home some three short weeks before. I was trying to picture to myself how it had all gone in the old home; I was wondering if my father's heart had softened any to his absent son. I reasoned whether, after all, I had done right in interfering between my brother Harry and his fiancee; but, when I thought of poor little Peggy Darrol and the righteous indignation and anger of her brother Jim, I felt, that if I had to go through all of it again, I would do as I had done already. My telephone bell rang. I answered. It was the hotel exchange operator. "Hello!--is that room 280?" "Yes!" I answered. "Mr. George Bremner?" "Yes!" "A gentleman in room 16 wishes to see you. Right away, if you can, sir!" "What name?" I asked. "No name given, sir." "All right! I'll go down at once. Thank you!" I laid aside my pipe and threw on my coat. On reaching the right landing, I made my way along an almost interminable corridor, until I stood before the mysterious room 16. As I entered, a respectably dressed, middle-aged man was coming out, hat in hand. Two others were sitting inside, apparently waiting an interview, while a smart-looking young lady,--evidently a stenographer,--was showing a fourth into the room adjoining. It dawned on me that this request to call must be the outcome of the letter I had written that morning in answer to the newspaper advertisement. I immediately assumed what I thought to be the correct, meek expression of a man looking for work; with, I hope, becoming timidity and nervousness, I whispered my name to the young lady. Then I took a seat alongside one of my fellow applicants, who eyed me askance and with what I took to be amused tolerance. Five minutes, and the young lady ushered out the man who had been on the point of being interviewed as I had come in. "Mr. Monaghan?" queried the lady. Mr. Monaghan rose and followed her. An interval of ten minutes, and Mr. Monaghan went after his predecessor. "Mr. Rubenstein?" asked the lady.