"Not very much; Milwaukee Avenue first. There is sure to be an all-night restaurant somewhere in sight. Telephone for a taxi, don't dare to risk a street car, we both look too tough." "Suppose they will follow us?" "Hardly; they will have no idea which way we went, or how long we'll have been gone. All Hobart will think about now will be getting out of sight himself. Once we turn off this street, we'll be safe enough." It was considerably past midnight when the two men finally reached the University Club; they had lunched at an all-night restaurant, washed and made themselves as presentable as possible, yet were hardly recognizable as they entered the Club lobby. Neither possessed a hat; Sexton was in his shirt sleeves, while West's coat clung to him in rags. Without waiting to explain anything to the servant in charge, except to state briefly that Sexton would be his guest for the night, the Captain hurried into the waiting elevator, and accompanied by his companion, ascended to his apartment above. The reaction from the excitement of the evening left Sexton dull and drowsy once he felt secure from any possible danger. His only desire was to lie quiet, and forget. Stretched out on a comfortable lounge, he fell asleep almost instantly, making no effort even to remove his clothes. West was of a different temperament, his mind far too active to find sleep possible. His only desire was to think, plan, decide upon some future course of action. With mind busy, forgetful of the very presence of his companion, he indulged in a bath, again dressed himself, and, lighting a cigar, settled back into an easy chair to fight the whole out alone with himself. The adventures of the night had greatly changed his conception of this affair in which he had become so strangely involved. The mystery confronting him appeared more difficult of solution than ever. His first vague theory of the case had already gone completely to smash. Question after question rose before him which remained unanswered. He was more thoroughly convinced than ever that Percival Coolidge had been murdered; that the act had been committed either by Hobart himself, or under his direction. He possessed no proof, however, nor could he figure out a motive for the crime. Who was this Jim Hobart? That was one of the first things to be learned. Was he in any way personally interested in the fortune left by Stephen Coolidge? Or did he hold any special relationship with the murdered man? How could he expect to profit by the sudden death of Percival? More important still, what peculiar influence did the fellow exert over the girl? Here was by far the deeper mystery, the one that troubled him most. The others seemed possible of explanation, but the sudden change in Natalie Coolidge was beyond all understanding.