"And you," she continued, with a little gleam of appreciation in her eyes, "are a very pleasant-looking, smart, agreeable Englishman, who looks as though he knew almost enough to ask a poor girl out to dinner." Crawshay glanced at his wrist watch. "It is you who have the science of detection," he declared. "You have read my thoughts. Do you wish to change your clothes first, or shall we turn in at a grill room?" She rose promptly to her feet. "I'm all for the glad rags," she insisted. "I bought a heap of clothes in Bond Street this afternoon, and I don't know how many chances I shall have of wearing them. I am a quick dresser, and I shan't keep you more than a quarter of an hour. But just one moment first." Crawshay stood attentively by her side. "I am at your service," he murmured. "It's all in the game," she went on, "for you to take me out to dinner, of course, but I guess I needn't tell you that there's nothing doing in the information way. You've fixed it up in your mind, I dare say, that I am mad with Jocelyn Thew. I may be or I may not, but that doesn't make me any the more likely to come in on your side of the game." Mr. Crawshay's gesture was entirely convincing. "My dear Miss Sharey," he said softly, "I am going to take a holiday. Business is one thing and pleasure is another. For this evening I am going to put business out of my mind. The sentiment at which I hinted a few moments ago, has, I can assure you, a very real existence." "Hinted?" she laughed. "Guess there wasn't much hint about it. You said you were in love with me." "I am," Crawshay sighed. Her eyes danced joyously. "You shall tell me all about it over dinner," she declared. "I've got a peach of a black gown--you won't mind if I am twenty minutes?" "I shall mind every moment that you are away," Crawshay replied, "but I can pass the time. I will telephone and have a cocktail." She leaned towards him. "I can guess whom you are going to telephone to." "Perhaps--but not what I am going to say." "You are going to telephone to that chap with the dark moustache--Brightman, isn't it? I can hear you on the wire. 'Say, boys,' you'll begin, 'I'm on to a good thing! Everything's looking lovely. I'm taking little Nora Sharey, of Fourteenth Street, out to dine--girl who came over to Europe after Jocelyn Thew, you know. Good business, eh?'" Crawshay laughed tolerantly. The girl's humour pleased him. "You are wrong," he declared. "If I told them that, they'd expect something from me which I know I shan't get. You are right about the person, though. I am going to telephone to Brightman." "What are you going to say?" she challenged him. "I am just going to tell him," Crawshay confided, "that Jocelyn Thew is dining with Miss Beverley and her brother, more red roses and a corner table in the restaurant, and--" "Well, what else?" Crawshay hesitated. "Perhaps," he said, "if I went on I might put just one card too many on the table, eh?"