They dropped her at the Cumberland town house, an old-fashioned mansion in one of those sections of the big city where a few historic families still linger. A tired-looking person was smoking a slightly used cigar and supporting the iron post which decorated a neighbouring corner. As the door closed and Barry came down to reënter the car, the weary man saluted him. “Bloated capitalist,” Jim murmured; “living in constant terror of the honest but starving burglar. Your wretched treasures guarded night and day by detectives----” “Yes,” said Barry, laughing, and directing Hemingway through the tube. “It seems funny to me. Because I can’t imagine the most hard-working burglar staggering away with a couple of hundred-weights of granite sphinx on his back.” “I much prefer the detective’s life,” Jim continued irrepressibly. “The detective’s life is the life for me. ‘All forms of shadowing undertaken. Divorce and blackmail our specialties. Order your armed guards by telephone. One to five thousand--in uniform--at a moment’s notice. Our watchword: Shoot to Kill. Telegraphic address: Confidence, New York’----” “For the love of Mike,” Jack implored, “be quiet for five minutes!” The car threaded its way through Fifth Avenue, and, at the very moment of its turning into that thoroughfare sacred to prohibitive prices, a traffic signal checked them. A French limousine shot past ahead, its occupants clearly visible. They were two; and as the man was seated on the off-side, Barry had never a glimpse of his features. But the girl wore a curious black veil, of a fashion neither Oriental nor Spanish. She had apparently just raised it, but dropped it again swiftly on seeing another car so near. Yet she failed to veil quickly enough to prevent Barry obtaining a glimpse of her face. He uttered a loud cry. To the astonishment of his friends--even Jim was silenced--he wrenched open the door and leaped out into the street! He ran three or four paces and stood there like a madman, right in the traffic fairway, glaring after the retreating car! Its number was indistinguishable. He turned, staring back at Hemingway, who was regarding him with deep concern. “Am I really going mad?” he muttered. The girl in the car was the girl of the balcony! CHAPTER VI. DANBAZZAR The abstracted mood of Barry during the remainder of the evening was too noticeable to pass without comment. His dance partner, Naomi, a girl friend of Jack’s grew very petulant, until Jack was really sorry for her. This wouldn’t have mattered, but Jack showed it. Whereupon Naomi became furious. Barry knew that he would not lack successors, however, for a lot of their crowd were there, and Naomi was what Jim termed “a star looker.” Accordingly he excused himself early on some imaginary pretext and started for home. He had let Hemingway go, and he taxied back. He longed for the solitude of his own room--for reflection.