"No. He used to work alone on unusual occurrences, but his success was so great that now he has a large number of subordinates who do the ordinary details, and he limits his work to the important points on select cases. He is not heard of much, and is seen very little, but his work is in great demand." I was interested, and asked if he had ever done any special work of prominence. "Yes," said Moore. "He solved the matter of the 'Red Rose of Trieste.' Do you remember hearing of that?" I exclaimed in amazement: "He! Is _he_ the man who solved that affair? You must be mistaken. That occurred, or began, in Europe." "Exactly," said Moore. "Quintus Oakes works there, as well as here. He speaks German, French, Italian, and perhaps more languages, fluently, and can secure evidence anywhere. He has travelled over the world several times. One year he was away ten months on a case, and secured the necessary evidence for conviction in Sydney." "I see. He is something decidedly out of the ordinary, as his appearance suggests." "He is on a new case just now, and he has promised to let me go, if I want to. It's a very short affair, and perhaps I will take a vacation that way. I have not been away yet this year," continued Moore. We now parted for the evening, and as he started to go, I called out after him: "Say, Moore, get me into it, if it's exciting. I have had no vacation yet myself. Introduce me to Mr. Oakes as soon as you can, anyway." "All right. I'll arrange for a night at the Club, provided Oakes is not too busy." I returned to my rooms, little knowing how things were shaping, from an entirely independent direction, to throw me, willingly I confess, for a few brief weeks into a vortex of turmoil, to fight through it side by side with my friend Moore and vigorous, cool, quick-witted Quintus Oakes. _CHAPTER II_ _Quintus Oakes at Home_ It was, therefore, a great deal in the nature of a surprise when, a few days after parting with Moore, I received a note at my apartments by messenger requesting me to call on Mr. Quintus Oakes that evening on professional business. It was written in a brisk, courteous style, but made no mention of Dr. Moore. Was it possible that I was to meet Oakes through other channels? I realized that my profession of the law might give many opportunities for such an interview with him, so I ceased to wonder, and started up Broadway just before the hour appointed. I turned into the long, dimly lighted side street near Long Acre Square, and found that the number designated was a bachelor apartment house. It was where I had lost him the day of the fire.