That evening he was hovering over one of the tables in the deserted cardroom, giving a deft touch here and there, when Atherton walked in. “Evening, Max!” the social favorite said affably. “Do you know if Mr. Frost is about?” He referred to Jackson Frost--“Jack Frost,” as his friends called him--a young man of excellent family and expensive tastes, who belonged to the so-called “sporting set.” “Yes, sir,” replied Max, in his silky, deferential voice. “Mr. Frost is in the writing room. He told me to let him know when you arrived. Shall I tell him you are here, or will you go up to him?” “Is he alone in the writing room?” “No, sir--at least, he wasn’t when I was there. There were several other gentlemen in the room.” “Then ask him to join me here, and, after you have given him my message, bring me some Scotch.” Max noiselessly retired, and presently returned with the whisky. “Mr. Frost will be down in a moment, sir,” he said, as he placed the articles at Atherton’s elbow. He had scarcely spoken before Jackson Frost appeared, a tall young fellow, faultlessly dressed. “So, here you are!” he said, addressing Atherton. “A bit late, aren’t you?” Before Atherton could reply, two other members of the club strolled into the room, a fact which brought a frown of annoyance to the man’s handsome face. While the newcomers were giving their orders to Max, the latter stood before them in an attitude of respectful attention. All the time, however, he was straining his ears to catch what was passing between Atherton and Frost. “Is everything arranged?” he heard the latter ask, in a low tone. “Yes,” Atherton replied. “I came to tell you what the arrangements are, but we can’t talk here.” “Come up to my room,” suggested Frost. “I’ll say I’m going up to dress for dinner, and you can follow me in a few minutes.” “Right,” said Atherton. “We’ll be safe from interruption there.” By this time the others had given their orders to Max, and one of them turned to Jackson Frost. “We’re trying to make up a four for cards; would you and Mr. Atherton care to join us?” “Thanks, but I haven’t time,” said Frost. “I’m dining out to-night, and I’m just going up to my room to change.” “And I’m only staying for a few minutes,” put in Atherton. “As a matter of fact, I only dropped in for a drink, and as soon as I’ve finished it, I’m off. By the way, did I pay you for this Scotch, Max?” “No, sir,” said the waiter. Atherton paid, and Max left the room. The club bar was in the basement, but instead of going there to procure the drinks which had been ordered, Max glided to the end of the entrance hall, walked leisurely up one flight of stairs, and then, being out of sight from below, darted up two other flights.